Coldblooded
by Faded Fallen
Summary: CHAPTER 11 UP Ed knows that alchemy can explain everything. Even daytime vampires, unundead zombies, and his surprising attraction to Colonel Mustang... Okay, maybe not the last one. TWT, post Lab 5 AU, RoyEd
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is my first attempt at FMA fanfiction, and while the subject matter might be cliche, I can just about gaurantee that this fic isn't. XD;; I hope you all enjoy it. Don't forget to review!

**Disclaimer:** Fullmetal Alchemist don't belong to me, no way, no how. Original characters do. Leave them be.

"He is colder than the winter  
I wrap my coat around to better  
Counteract this charm attack  
Well, I'm no savior  
But I tried to save you"

- _"Charm Attack" _ by Leona Ness

** Chapter One  
**

Metal was cold in winter. It was easy to forget that when Ed had spent so much time in the desert, sweating and bleeding from sunburned lips. But now he was in Central and it was nearing January. Bitter northern winds buffeted him as he slouched his way from the library back to the dorms, a promise of snow hanging heavily in the leaden evening sky.

His automail ports ached from the cold, and with each step he heard the contracting _squeak-eak _ of chilled synthetic muscles. He tried to keep his right arm from brushing against his body too much – even through multiple layers of fabric, he could still feel the heat leeching from him when it touched him. He felt old, and thought that it really wasn't fair. He was barely sixteen, far too early to have arthritis. He would almost miss the desert itself, except that the sand got into his ports and hurt even more, and the dust was a bitch to clean from the joints. Still, it sometimes seemed that his automail arm and leg never properly warmed until spring. Not even sitting in front of a fire for hours banished the chill.

Also, it certainly didn't help that Ed had had to vary his path back to the dorms. The fame of the Fullmetal Alchemist dogged him wherever he went. When he took the same route home every night, people started to 'accidentally' bump into him and want autographs. Sometimes it felt like the whole city was stalking him, waiting for a chance gush over his accomplishments. And now that he was getting older, they were starting to just gush over _him_.

He'd turned down at least five dates in the past week, a fact he'd marveled at and been slightly perturbed by. Marveled that so many girls had wanted him, but perturbed because he knew they viewed him as some kind of hero, almost a god. It was in their starstruck, adoring gazes, and it made him very uncomfortable, especially once they started telling him how wonderful he was. He wanted to snarl at them that they didn't know what the hell they were talking about.

The ache from the cold was just another reminder of how wrong they were. Ed knew that his mistakes far outweighed any of the good he might have done. Anyone who said otherwise didn't know a damn thing and didn't have the right, except Al. Who really wasn't much better sometimes, but at least he'd been there through almost all of it with him.

Ed shivered and hitched his coat over his shoulders more tightly as another gust flung ice crystals into his face. He wished he'd remembered his scarf. He suddenly had an image of himself with frostbite so bad Winry had to make him an automail nose. He huffed a half-amused breath out and sniffled experimentally. Still functional.

"Lost, Fullmetal?"

Ed managed not to jump at the voice, but he did whirl around with a vengeance.

"_Who's so short that a compass needle is taller than him?_" he demanded in outrage.

Behind him stood an amused Colonel Mustang, the door of the shop he just exited chiming cheerily as it shut. He held a plain brown sack in his arms. Edward tried not to look surprised. Somehow he'd never pictured the Colonel doing something so… _normal_ as grocery shopping. He'd assumed the man would send Fury or someone to do it for him. Rank and privileges and all that.

Mustang followed his gaze and his eyebrow rose. As if reading Ed's mind, he said, "No, I'm not above buying my own food. I thought you were going to be researching tonight. Aren't you a bit far from the library?"

"Lat time I checked, I don't have to get your permission to take a walk," Ed bristled automatically.

"I was just asking," Mustang said. "Isn't it a bit cold for a casual stroll?"

"I'm on my way home, actually, so the less time you chat the sooner I can get inside," he replied sourly. He was in too foul a mood to put up with the Colonel. Granted, the man hadn't been condescending just yet, but Ed wouldn't be lulled into complacency by the lack of short jokes.

Mustang just rolled his eyes, exasperated but not irritated. "Come on, then," he said, and started walking.

"What?" Ed asked, startled.

"It's a long walk back to the dorms, but I don't live very far from here. You may as well help me drink some of this coffee I bought," he said blandly as he walked by.

"I don't like coffee," Ed said to the man's back.

Mustang shrugged without turning. "Suit yourself. Say hello to Alphonse for me."

Ed clamped down on the indignant sputtering he felt rising in his throat and it came out as a low growl. Which was echoed by his empty stomach. He stared after Mustang, calculating – after all, the man had an armful of food that he wouldn't have had time to poison - and then shook himself.

"Wait up, you long-legged freak!"

The Colonel paused and half-turned, a smirk on his face above the blue muffler he had wrapped high around his throat. Ed resisted the urge to take his momentum from running and carry it through into a punch that would wipe that expression from Mustang's face.

"Changed your mind?" Mustang asked innocently.

"I can always change it again later," Ed said.

"How typical."

"What's _that _ supposed to mean?

"Nothing at all, Fullmetal. Nothing at all."

He eyed Mustang suspiciously as they started walking again. He wanted to demand why the Colonel, who for all intents and purposes viewed Ed as nothing more than a useful nuisance, was inviting him over to his home. There had to be some kind of motive, some serpentine machination that would be furthered by this. But Ed was cold, getting colder now that the dim sky was fading to black. A five minute break to get the feeling back in his cheeks wouldn't kill him, even if they were five minutes in Mustang's company. Besides, food. He hadn't eaten since he'd left this morning, which was over eight hours ago.

"What brought you so far out of your way in the first place, Ed?"

Like hell he'd tell the man he was avoiding overeager fans. Mustang would probably just use it as ammo in the next verbal sparring match somehow. After all, it wasn't like _he_ didn't enjoy his fame, or rather infamy.

"I like a change of pace every once in a while," Ed said.

"Hm. Well, next time wear a thicker coat. The way you're hunched up like that is giving _me _ the shivers," Mustang said.

"You're bossy even when you're trying to make small talk, Colonel," he replied with a hint of a snarl and he unconsciously hitched his coat again.

"Hey, Ed. Chill," Mustang quipped lightly.

"You think you're so damn funny," Ed grumbled. "What's with the sudden interest in my walking habits?"

"Have you been reading the paper lately?"

"Why should I? S'not like there'll be a big ad for a philosopher's stone in the For Sale section."

Mustang made a soft huffing sound that might almost have been a chuckle. "You've got a one-track mind, Fullmetal."

"You're one to talk, Colonel Whatever-Gets-Me-a-Promotion-or-a-Date," he retorted.

"That's two tracks."

"Shut up."

"At any rate, the point is there have been several missing persons lately, more than usual I suppose –"

"Oh, so you don't think I can take care of myself against some half-assed kidnappers?" Ed snarled, no hinting about it this time. It was too much. "I can go to parts unknown to do your dirty work, but going to the library is suddenly too dangerous for me?"

Mustang slid him an unamused look through narrowed eyes. "Does the name Barry the Chopper ring a bell?"

"I was twelve!"

"And you're just as oblivious now as you were then when you've got your head full of your research for your brother. You didn't even know there _was_ a kidnapper on the loose," the man pointed out seriously.

"I've had worse ambushes from Hughes with his photograph albums."

"That's no reason to be carelessly unaware of your surroundings, Fullmetal," Mustang retorted, voice only slightly warmer than the rapidly dropping temperature. He stopped suddenly and glanced around. Ed paused as well, feet automatically falling into an attack stance.

"What is it?"

Mustang didn't respond, his lips pressed firmly together as he turned on his heel and backtracked ten feet to the door of a brick townhouse. Ed was confused for a moment before he heard the man fumbling in his pocket for his keys. An ear-to-ear grin split Ed's face as he relaxed.

"You were saying, Colonel?" he asked sweetly, coming to stand behind his superior officer on the low stone steps.

"Shut up, Fullmetal, or I'm not giving you so much as a cracker."

Ed couldn't help the snigger but he did bite his tongue to keep from addition ribbing. He was hungry, after all. Mustang opened his door and dim but warm yellow light spilled forth. The man went inside, leaving the door open for him to follow. Ed paused in the doorway as Mustang set his grocery bag on a small shelf in the entry way and began shucking his winter garb.

Mustang's sitting room was not how Edward would have pictured it, if he'd ever bothered to picture the place where his superior spent his time out of the office. Cream walls with mahogany trim were hung with tasteful paintings in muted colors. The light came from brass kerosene sconces with the wicks turned low to conserve fuel, and bookshelves lined the far left wall. The fireplace with its banked and screened blaze was set in the wall opposite the door, the large stone mantle decked with pictures in frames. There was a large, overstuffed leather armchair and a matching couch with a dark wood coffee table in front, and end-tables with brass lamps on them for reading. A coffee mug and a disheveled newspaper sat on the corner of the coffee table nearest the armchair, which had a more worn look to it than the couch.

It looked… cozy. Lived-in. It startled Ed into staring bemusedly. And here he'd had the Colonel pegged as an austere sort who'd favor Spartan surroundings at a home he rarely spent time in, more concerned with his ambitions and dates. Suddenly Edward felt as if he was intruding and wondered if he should make some excuse about the time and continue on his way.

"Close the damn door, Fullmetal. You're letting the heat out," Mustang commanded brusquely.

Ed blinked and tried not to look sheepish as he reached for the doorknob. He paused when he heard a muffled sound from outside. Unease prickled through him and he stood waiting, hoping he'd imagined it. No, there it was again – the solid thudding of flesh hitting pavement, and a subdued but still terrified voice not forming words.

He was out the door and running towards the sound without even acknowledging the startled "Edward!" that Mustang called after him. He traced the noises as quickly as he could, and they had to be close or he wouldn't have heard anything at all. He skidded when he spotted the alley between two of the townhouses, so narrow it was more of a walkway than a real alley. He backpedaled and stared down its length.

Sure enough, barely visible in the rising darkness, two figures were locked in some kind of fierce tableau. The taller figure was backed against the wall, one of the shorter figure's hands pressing against its mouth to muffle the terrified wails that were fighting to break free. The shorter figure was holding both of the first's wrists in one hand, pinning them to the brick beside them. The short figure's head was leaning in a languid, smug way closer and closer to the taller's exposed neck, and Ed felt nauseous. Mustang hadn't mentioned that the kidnapper also molested his victims.

"Hey!" Ed shouted before he even thought, transmuting his automail hand into a blade simultaneously.

The flare of light at the alchemical reaction showed the attacker and victim clearly, both having turned at the noise. First of all, the tall figure was not actually tall – the hands that held the wild-eyed, tear-streaked girl prisoner also had her suspended a full foot and a half above the ground. The attacker was equally wild-eyed and his face was twisted into an animalistic snarl as he turned to face Ed, dropping the girl abruptly as he rushed forward.

Ed's reflexes were nothing short of impeccable, but he couldn't even follow the movement of this guy. One second he was a good fifteen feet away, the next he was careening into Ed full tilt and bearing him to the pavement, the hand wrapped around his right wrist easily overcoming the strength of his automail. Ed saw stars as his head bounced off the unforgiving cobbles, and when his vision cleared he was staring into flaming orange-and-yellow eyes and mouthful of viciously pointed teeth that had _no_ business being in a human mouth. His attacker reared back, raising a fist to pummel him, and actually _hissed _ at him. It was not a human sound, and it shot barbed spikes of some basic, primal horror through him – a mouse caught in the claws of a cat –

Just then there was a quiet snap followed by a huge flare of heat and light that blinded Ed. His attacker shrieked and suddenly Ed was free. He rolled instinctively, curling to cover his head. And just as suddenly as everything began the night was dark and still save for the sound of hysterical sobbing and his own blood rushing in his ears.

Cautiously, he sat up and his head swam as he tried to focus his eyes. A wave of nausea, stronger than before, washed over him and he swallowed desperately. Shit, shit, shit. He'd been through enough fights gone wrong to know a concussion when he felt one.

"Fullmetal." Ah, the Colonel. That explained the fireworks. "Are you all right?"

"Th- the girl," he grit out, now attempting to stand as he squinted against the hammering in his skull.He didn't look up at him, kept his eyes fixed on the ground while his stomach flip-flopped as if gravity was on the fritz. He heard Mustang's brisk tread on the cobblestones. As the man's voice began speaking in soothing tones to the girl, Ed finally lost control of his limbs and his belly – he fell to the ground and retched miserably, but there wasn't anything in his stomach to dispel besides acrid bile.

After a few moments, he recovered enough to breathe, and he spat, wiping his mouth with his gloved left hand. He was angry with himself now, and he determinedly staggered to his feet, stumbling over to the brick wall of the nearest house to lean on. He was spared the necessity of going into the alley, though, because Mustang chose that moment to emerge with the girl under one arm.

Ed almost laughed – even now, the bastard was flirting! – but he thought that if he spoke he might vomit again. When he saw Ed, though, Mustang's grave look deepened and he released the girl.

"Fullmetal, how many fingers am I holding up?" he asked. Ed squinted, watching Mustang's three hands swirl vaguely.

"It's cheating - to use more than - one hand - bastard," he managed to say between throbs.

Mustang nodded as if this was the answer he expected. "Cynthia, would you help Edward into my house while I find your parents?"

"Yes, Mr. Roy," the girl said, and Ed almost laughed again. _Mr. Roy_. That was hilarious for some reason. He hoped it wasn't brain damage.

---------------------------------------

Half an hour later saw Ed sitting on Mustang's couch as a physician shined a gratingly bright light into his eyes. At least this was slightly less painful than the prodding he'd undergone a few moments before. The old man attached to the police unit Mustang had called was not unkind, but Ed's head _hurt_, dammit, and poking at it did not help. At least he was warming up at last. He'd giving his statement through chattering teeth.

The light was put away and Ed blinked spots from his vision.

"Well, young man, you're very lucky," the doctor said in an old-timer-ish voice that Ed could easily imagine calling him a 'whippersnapper.' "You have a concussion, but you didn't break your head. I'll give you a prescription for some painkillers, and you're get a lot of rest for the next few days. But under no circumstances should you sleep for more than an hour at a time. Have someone wake you up regularly. I don't think there's much chance of you slipping into a coma, but it's possible."

Ed resisted the urge to sneer at the man that he _knew_ how to deal with concussions, but he lacked the energy. The old man stood and left after he put a piece of scribbled-upon paper Ed assumed was the prescription into his lax right hand – he'd had the presence of mind to transmute it back to its normal state when Cynthia had brought him inside.

He looked over to where the girl – a few younger than he was – stood next to her somber father and tearful mother as she told the police what happened for what seemed the fortieth time. Ed wondered why the police bothered to write any of this down if they were just going to listen to it so many times they could quote it from memory.

Cynthia was apparently Roy's neighbor from several doors down, and she'd been walking home from her aunt's house when that creep had jumped her and pulled her into the alley. Ed heard the scuffle and rushed to the rescue. Mustang had followed him and scared the bastard off with the pyrotechnics – probably would have fried him if he hadn't been sitting on top of Ed. Mustang hadn't seen where he'd gone, either, which was odd. Mustang was one of the most observant people Ed knew this side of Hughes. It wasn't like him to just miss the guy's escape.

Of course, that was not the only odd thing. Ed hadn't mentioned the teeth and eyes, and neither had Cynthia. Maybe she hadn't seen, but _he_'d certainly gotten a good look. That and the way the guy _moved_… He wasn't certain which he distrusted more – his concussion-addled memories or the police's credulity.

The entire situation was not sitting well with him. Especially when he saw how Cynthia's parents were fussing over her. Not that he didn't understand; he i _did /i _, but it just made him more aware of Al's absence. He wanted his little brother's reassuring, steady presence right now, even if Al would be upset about him getting hurt.

He hunched in on himself, pulling the blanket the Colonel had produced for him tighter around his shoulders. He stared into the fire, running over the events in his mind, looking for some kind of clue. The only explanation he kept coming back to was that the attacker had to have been some kind of chimera, a human and animal chimera.

_"Edward, let's go play. You promised."  
_

The shudder that shot through him had nothing to do with the lingering chill in his automail ports.

A hand on his left shoulder made him jerk and then wince. He looked up. Mustang was looking at him with some indiscernible expression and offering a mug of… tea. How about that. The bastard actually remembered that he didn't like coffee.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking the cup.

"You're welcome. How are you holding up?"

Edward shrugged carefully. His head wasn't the only thing that'd taken a knock when he'd landed. His shoulderblades and back felt like one solid bruise, and there was a scrape on his cheek he still needed to wash out.

"Been through worse," he said, sipping his tea. "How's Cynthia?"

"She's not hurt, just very shaken. Her parents are taking her home," Mustang replied, leaning on the arm of the couch. He cleared his throat. "Speaking of which –"

"I'll call Al, he'll take me back to the dorms," Ed interrupted.

"No, he won't," Mustang said, so firmly Ed struggled to adjust his blurry vision to stare at the man. He seemed perfectly serious. "I've called Hawkeye. She's on her way to the dorms now to pick him up."

"What? Why?"

"You're in no condition to be going anywhere, Fullmetal, and the doctor prescribed rest. You'll be staying here until you're well enough to make it back to the dorms," Mustang explained. "Especially since you seem to be able to find trouble even when you're not looking for it."

Ed blinked owlishly, a bizarre mix of irritation, relief, suspicion, and awkwardness warring for dominance inside him. Mustang was letting him stay here, letting Al stay here in his home. Ed supposed he should be grateful, but that's where the irritation came in. It was so like Mustang to order him under house arrest and arrange for it in that high-handed manner of his. And since when did he give a damn?

"S'not like this was my fault," Ed grumbled, glaring into his teacup. "If I hadn't heard –"

"I never said it was your fault," Mustang replied. "If you hadn't heard, then Cynthia would probably have been in the paper tomorrow morning. I'm glad you acted so quickly, even if it didn't go as well as it could have. Mr. and Mrs. Gooding are even more thankful, not to mention Cynthia herself. She's a good kid."

Ed made a noncommittal noise into his tea. It was good , strong black breakfast tea with honey in it. He wondered at that, that Mustang would think to sweeten it for him. An unexpected gesture from a man who seemed so uncaring and aloof. But then, there didn't seem to be a single thing this evening that had _not_ been strange since he'd run into the Colonel.

"Colonel Mustang, we're finished here," one of the cops came up to say. "Thanks for your cooperation."

"It was our pleasure to help," Mustang said seriously, shaking the man's hand. "Let me show you the door."

Ed stared out the window into the night as his superior bid all his guests good night. It had started to snow, looking deceptively peaceful. Just once he wanted to see that classical ideal of the moods of man and nature mirroring each other. It should have been storming with howling winds and the eerie green flashes of winter lightning.

Finally, Mustang shut the door and sat down with a heavy, tired sigh in the overstuffed chair.

"Colonel," Ed began and paused, contemplating the best way to bring this up. "Did you… did you get a good look at that guy?"

"You were listening, weren't you, Fullmetal? All I saw was some punk doing his best intimately introduce your hard head to the asphault," Mustang said, staring into the fire.

"That's all?"

Something in his tone must have given his unease away, because Mustang turned his coal gaze to meet Ed's.

"What do you think I should have seen?"

"I – I dunno. Things were a bit confusing for me, but… It wasn't right. It wasn't… natural. The way he moved, his – his face. Maybe it was the concussion but… He had fucking _fangs_, Mustang," Ed ground out. "And his eyes weren't normal, either."

"Well, I'd imagine a serial killer would look a bit deranged in the heat of the moment," Mustang said dryly.

"Dammit, not like that. I've seen my fair share of those. This was like something out of a dime-store horror novel. And you have to admit that he vanished too quickly. Where'd he run to? Cynthia didn't see him run past in the alley, and you didn't see him running down the street. How could he have gotten away so fast?" Ed demanded, trying to keep his temper under control simply because even his normal speaking voice made his head throb harder.

Mustang frowned. He had shucked his uniform jacket and boots, and his white button-down shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, but for all that he still didn't seem relaxed. For a man who sat at a desk every day, he still had well-defined muscles, and those visible in his forearms were tense, as was the set of his shoulders and jaw. Ed didn't blame him.

"We were all a bit dazzled by my flare," Mustang said at last. "It's possible he managed to hide somewhere before running after we split up."

Ed frowned back at him. "Come here for a second."

"What?"

"Look, you shitty Colonel, didn't anyone ever tell you not to aggravate an invalid? Now get your ass over here," Ed commanded.

"If you want to be humored, I suppose," Mustang said, rolling his eyes as he stood and shuffled to stand in front of Ed. "Yes?"

"Not there, idiot. There," Ed said, gesturing at the side of the coffee table across from him.

Mustang looked bemused as he did so, but his eyebrows rose when Ed leaned forward and put his right arm on the coffee table in an obvious arm-wrestling pose.

"What on earth are you trying to prove, Fullmetal?"

"I thought you were humoring me, bastard. Come on, let's go."

Mustang frowned again, searching Ed's face for something. Ed didn't flinch, even if his eyes still weren't exactly obeying his commands. Finally, Mustang huffed a breath of annoyance and knelt, accepting the challenging arm in his own.

"On three," he said. "One, two, three!"

Ed was careful in that he didn't break his commanding officer's wrist, but Mustang, though Ed could see his forearm muscles were straining for all they were worth, couldn't budge his hand from the were Ed had it pinned. He couldn't help a slightly juvenile thrill of satisfaction, even if it was an unfair fight. He looked smug when Mustang shook his hand out after being released.

"Okay," Mustang said reproachfully. "What was the point of that? If there was one at all."

Ed ditched his small smirk, staring with as much focus as he could muster into Mustang's glare.

"I'm still concussed, still in pain, still delirious or whatever else kind of bullshit excuse you can think of that might make you think I have no idea what I really saw back there," he began. "But my automail is still stronger than anything flesh. That guy… he didn't have automail, but he had me nailed down with one hand. Think about _that_, Mustang."

The Colonel paled. Ed opened his mouth to press his advantage, but a knock at the door made them both jump. A second later, the door burst open and Al and Hawkeye entered.

"Brother! Are you all right? What happened?" Al demanded loudly and rapidly from obvious worry, and he hurried to Ed's side. Each clanging footstep resounded in Ed's head like gunshots, and he did his best not to cringe.

"I'm okay, really, Al," he said. "I've got it from several sources that I'm hardheaded. It's just a concussion."

"_Just_ a concussion? Then what happened to your face? Did you even wash this out yet?"

"Er, well, we were kind of busy with the cops and –"

"Brother," Al said in a chastising tone. "You really need to start taking better care of yourself. You could have at least had the doctor look at it."

"I know, I know, sorry," he said sheepishly.

Al was glaring at him as best as a suit of armor could. Ed settled himself in for a long lecture and interrogation. He looked out of the corner of his eye at Mustang, who had gotten up to talk in muted voices to Hawkeye by the door. The man did not look unnerved anymore, but Ed knew he'd gotten his point cross. Once he had Al filled in, he had a feeling they'd be doing some poking around. If it had just been another serial killer like Barry the Chopper, Ed might have left well enough alone, but this situation was starting to smell like alchemy. He knew he couldn't let it slide.

_"You promised."  
_

He'd get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

** TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

"There's no time for hesitating,  
Pain is ready, pain is waiting,  
Primed to do its educating."

- "_Dream On" _ by Depeche Mode

**Chapter Two  
**

Roy woke up blearily the next morning to voices in his guest room, and it took him several moments to figure out why. When he did, he groaned to himself and curled closer into his blankets, shoving his head under his pillow. He understood that Alphonse did not need sleep and that Edward needed to be woken up constantly, but did they have to have a loud conversation every time the younger roused the older? Couldn't they have waited just five more min-

His alarm clock clanged shrilly and he flailed a sleep-sluggish arm out until he beat it into silence. He groaned again. Mornings were the worst of God's inventions.

And while he knew that it had ultimately been a good thing that he had invited Fullmetal over on a whim, he was seriously questioning his judgment when he'd all but ordered the boy to stay at his home until he was recovered. Still, now that he thought of it, he wondered what had inspired him in the first place. If he hadn't brought Edward with him, the previous evening – and consequently, this morning – would have been quite different.

It'd been just a coincidence, finding Edward last night. Roy had been in a good mood after getting off work, despite the fact that he hadn't had a date planned for the night, and Fullmetal had looked so cold. And yes, lost, but not in the directional sense. The protectiveness over his subordinates that Roy knew would get him in trouble someday had made him speak, hoping at first to simply distract and goad the teen out of his funk. And then, when Fullmetal hadn't simply snubbed him or decked him, impulse carried him.

Ironic, wasn't it, that the excuse he'd pulled out of his ass when Edward questioned his offer of shelter turned out to be the event of the evening. His protective instincts had certainly gotten their exercise again. He remembered full well the leaden feeling in his gut when he'd rushed after Fullmetal in time to see him get plastered to the sidewalk, lying there like a broken doll as the attacker prepared to beat him even more senseless. He'd snapped in the nick of time, really.

"Bro-_ther_!" Alphonse said, loudly enough to stir Mustang from the light doze his contemplation had lulled him into.

Grumbling to himself, he rolled out of bed and stretched. After sliding on his slippers and robe, he shuffled out into the hallway and caught fragments of whatever argument the brothers were having.

"No, it's five points, inverted, with a tetragram counter-inscribed in red."

"Brother, you're thinking of the shorthand version. I'm talking about the full five circle array with the letters of the tetragram on the four outer circles – "

"_Who's _got the head injury, here? I know you didn't just suggest that Grundhauser's Method would be effective in this case."

Ah, the indolence of youth. Roy smiled wryly as he made his way to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he was showered, dressed, and sipping coffee in his kitchen as he picked up the paper that was still cold from sitting on the doorstep. Of course the attack last night was the headline story, and he hadn't even started reading it when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Roy!"

Roy sighed. Hughes sounded cheerful. Far _too _ cheerful. "Good is a debatable word."

"Oh, _really_. How else would you qualify that deed you did last night, hmm?" Hughes asked sweetly. "Because heroically facing down a known miscreant to save two minors certainly sounds _good_, doesn't it?"

"Oh God, it doesn't _say _ that, does it?" Roy smirked. Edward was going to flip out when he found out. He could almost hear the deafening rant already.

"You bet your ass it does. What's the matter? Aren't you pleased at the PR? Or is it the fact that your conscience is guilty because you didn't inform your best friend what the hell you were up to?" Hughes asked, a honey-coated blade lodged in his words.

"Sorry, Maes. Things were… hectic last night," he said, wincing.

"No doubt. How's Ed?"

"How should I know?" Roy sipped his coffee.

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you. I talked to Hawkeye," came the reply. "We've been doing double time this morning at the office already, fending off rabid reporters. As a favor to a friend. Just _letting you know_."

"You're laying it on a bit thick. I didn't get enough sleep to go on a guilt trip today," he warned.

Hughes sighed gustily. "All right, all right. Seriously, how are those two doing?"

"Same as ever," Roy said, shrugging. "Arguing theory upstairs, last I checked."

He laughed. "Should've guessed it'd take more than a few bricks to the face to keep Edward Elric down. Anything else about last night I should know? Or is everything in the police report?"

Roy hesitated, recalling Fullmetal's groggy arm-wrestling match. Finally he said, "Perhaps. I'll talk to you when I get to the office. How many reporters did you say there were?"

"I'd guess around fifteen, but that's not including photographers and aides. Come in the back way, we've schedule a press conference this morning. You'll have 'em in the palm of your hand, Roy," Hughes said, this time not feigning his good humor.

"Thanks. I appreciate it," he said sincerely.

"Don't thank me. Thank Alicia for waking Mommy and Daddy at five this morning with breakfast in bed. She made _toast_, Roy. _Toast_. I think she's got to be the sweetest, smartest little pixie in the whole –"

"See you at work, then," Roy said and hung up.

He finished his coffee and glanced at his watch. He'd have to leave in a few minutes. And if there was going to be a press conference, he'd better get his good cufflinks from where he'd left them on the bathroom shelf. He rose, boots tapping smartly on the stairs as he ascended.

It was quiet in the hall, and he was careful to tread more quietly, assuming Edward had drifted off again. When he reached it, he pushed the bathroom door open and –

Was confronted by startled yellow-hazel eyes framed by tawny waves of hair staring at him from the mirror.

He and a half-naked Fullmetal both froze, the teen still facing the sink with his hands poised over the gauze-covered scrape on his cheek. The position gave Roy a good look at his bare back. His hair was longer when it wasn't in its accustomed braid, but it didn't cover the huge, ugly red-and-black bruise that stretched across his shoulder blades. Roy felt a sudden surge of emotion that his eyes narrowed to cover. God forbid Fullmetal think it was pity, he'd never get the blond to shut up about his independence if it was. That bastard had really done a number on Fullmetal with that tackle.

"Do you _mind_?" Edward asked sharply, and Roy faced him through the mirror. "Geeze, I know it's your house but can't you at least knock?"

_Well, I'll be damned_, Roy thought vaguely. He was blushing.

He coughed and looked away. "Excuse me, Fullmetal. Didn't mean to intrude. I just need to retrieve something before I leave for work."

Muttering something Roy didn't catch much of besides "bastard colonel," Edward shied away towards the tub to make room. Roy briskly stepped inside and rummaged on the shelf for his cufflinks.

"There are towels in the linen closet in the hall," he said, more to fill the awkward silence than anything. "There's food if you're feeling up to it, but try not to eat me out of house and home. I just went grocery shopping, after all."

"Understood, Colonel," Fullmetal said, an odd inflection in his voice causing Roy to glance at him. He looked down at his sock-clad feet. "Th-Thanks. I guess. For… you know."

Roy tried to keep from smiling at his brash subordinate's bashful body language and only partially succeeded. His reflection was smirking at him.

"Don't worry about it, Fullmetal. But you really should send Alphonse to fill that prescription now that the drug store is open. The doctor gave it to you for a reason."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," the blond said with an expressive eye-roll. "You done yet? I gotta shower."

Roy's hand closed around his cufflinks and he turned to leave. "All yours, Fullmetal. Get some rest. You do need to return to work sooner rather than later, you know."

Edward managed to bristle and look smug at the same time. "You're just jealous that I get to sleep all day when you know Hawkeye's going to work you like a dog, you lazy piece of shit Colonel!"

"Hm? Is that so?" he responded airily. "Well, I suppose I'd better be off to my adoring public."

"Huh?" Edward said intelligently.

"Brother!" Alphonse called up the stairs. "You made the paper!"

"What?"

"Good bye, Fullmetal!"

Roy was out on the street before he heard the screech of "'_Heroic Flame Alchemist Saves–' _Mustang, you_ bastard!_" He was still chuckling when he got to the base.

---------------------------------------

The doors of the drawing room burst open at precisely nine o'clock, and a slight woman and a hulking man bodily dragged a boy to the table near the curtained window. The black-haired youth was grimier than usual, with bits of straw caught on his patched and stained coat. The regal man sitting at the table folded his paper neatly, his fine-boned, gloved fingers lacing together just below the headline. He frowned slightly, and the boy flinched, what little color there was draining from his face.

"Dear child, why ever did you not come home last night?" he asked softly. Panic entered the boy's expression and he did not respond, orange-yellow eyes unwillingly locked on the man's through the blue tint of his slim, wire glasses.

"We found him in the stables, sir," the woman said in a low purring voice.

"Ah, thank you, Mercy. So you did come home, then," the man said, a small smile on his narrow, almost gaunt features. "But, why didn't you inform me of _this _ little mishap?"

He gestured eloquently to the newspaper. The boy gulped for air and broke the gaze, squirming against his two captors. The big man twisted the arm he held until the boy dropped to his knees, whimpering.

"See if we ever send _you _ for take-out again," the huge man sneered.

"Gently, now. Let Kerwin speak."

"I-I'm sorry," Kerwin gasped. "She m-made too much noise – he heard a-and –"

"An' you, like a right idjit, attacked 'im," the grunt accused with a sneer. He shook the boy's arm. "D'you even know who 'e was?"

"Neitherworth, I said _gently_," the thin man reprimanded, eyes flicking to him briefly. Neitherworth relaxed his hold immediately. "You raise a good point, though. Kerwin, you should be proud. It's not every boy who can say he bested the famed Fullmetal Alchemist in hand-to-hand combat."

Kerwin's eyes widened. "F-Fullmetal…?"

"Indeed. However, this does nothing to excuse you from punishment," the man responded easily, his smile gaining an edge that made the boy whimper again. "After all, you allowed two high-profile military officials see you, you silly child. And the Fullmetal Alchemist is a known meddler in things that are none of his business in the least."

The smile dropped completely from his face with stark suddenness to be replaced by a cold, calculating expression as he examined Kerwin with unnerving intensity. The boy began to snivel and beg, which was ignored.

"A week in the pit," the man said to Neitherworth. "Break his arms before you put him in, and have some fun while you're about it."

"How much fun?" Neitherworth asked cautiously.

"As much as you like, my dear," he replied in an indulgent tone.

The wide grin that spread across Neitherworth's face was grotesquely pleased. Kerwin fell silent in sick horror as he pulled him out of the room. Mercy made to follow, anticipation in her seraphic face. The thin man stopped her with a glance.

"Sir?" she murmured deferentially.

"Ah, the mess that boy has created. I think it's best if you clean up a bit, hmm?" he said smoothly.

"Yes, sir."

"Fullmetal. He's far too sharp to not have noticed how special our Kerwin is, and he is military as well,"he mused aloud in an almost distracted tone. "Bring him to me, alive."

"Yes, sir. Sir, might I –"

He cut her off with a nod, lazily running a hand through his close-cropped chestnut hair. "Of course, my dear. Wouldn't dream of stopping you."

"Yes, sir," she acknowledged, relief evident in her face. She was probably quite thirsty, after all. "Where is he? What's he look like?"

"No idea. I'd check this Colonel Mustang's residence first. If nothing else, he may lead you to the boy. As for a description, he's said to have automail limbs, as well as being only a teenager. I don't know beyond that. Now, make haste," he said dismissively. He picked up his teacup, which was empty. The stains on the inside were dry and brown. "And send Marie in. I could use a cuppa myself."

---------------------------------------

Al managed to calm Ed down by making a light breakfast of eggs and toast. Ed had told him of his suspicions after Mustang had shown them to the guest room and retired for the evening. As Al did dishes, they speculated.

"Do you really think they're chimeras? I mean, when Tucker transmuted Nina…" Al said, voice softening at the girl's name, and he trailed off for a moment. "Well, she didn't look anything like human."

"He didn't want her to. Having a chimera that looked and spoke like his suddenly missing daughter would have brought a lot more down on his head than General Grand," Ed replied darkly around a mouthful of eggs. "You'd only need to adjust the array to make the human appearance dominant."

"It just seems too complex. Why transmute a human/animal chimera to kidnap people? Why not just… kidnap them? And what are they doing to the people when they do?"

"Hell if I know. We don't even know for sure that's what was intended. Who's to say that this guy wasn't some whack-job's pet project who got away from him?" Ed pointed out, rising from the table to deposit his plate and fork in the sink.

"So, where do we start?" Al asked.

"The newspapers. I want to know more about the victims and the situation first. And I'll need to go to the library and –"

"Oh no you don't," Al admonished, shaking a sudsy leather finger at his brother. "The Colonel said you're to stay put, and I'm here to make sure you do. What if you run into that thing while you're out there?"

"Oh_, please_. I can take care of myself," Ed snapped. "And just how are we going to get the texts we need if I can't go to the First Branch and pick them up? They won't let you in, you have to be a State Alchemist."

"So call the Colonel and ask him to stop by the library after work to get them," Al responded quickly.

"I'm not about to ask that asshole for any more favours."

"Brother, don't be stubborn," Al said, setting aside the last dish to dry in the rack beside the sink. He sighed, wiping his hands on a towel. "Though, it is kind of weird how he's letting us stay here."

"I was thinking it was more sadistic than anything. He likes having me around to torment."

"Or maybe masochistic. You're no fun to deal with when you're injured."

Ed grumbled and sat back down. "Whatever. I'll call him later, then. Help me make a list of what we're going to need."

A long list. Mustang still needed a workout now and then, after all, and carrying a huge stack of books for a few miles in the cold would probably do the trick.

"Later. First thing's first. Where'd you put that prescription?"

"I don't need it. If I'm doped up on opiates, I'll never get to the bottom of this," Ed said with a sigh. His head didn't hurt sharply anymore, more like a dull, constant throbbing that made him tired and snappish. But it was bearable.

"Well, still. You should have it just in case." Al was firm.

Ed looked up into the worried gaze his brother had fixed on him and sighed.

"It's on the coffee table. You big bully."

"Somebody's gotta know how to push you around, brother," Al retorted playfully, holding out a palm. "Now shell out so I can pay for it."

Grumbling again, Ed dug out his wallet. Al left a moment later with a wad of cash – who knew how expensive that shit was, anyway, freakin' snake-oil sellers – and the prescription. With nothing left to distract him, Ed got to work.

He shuffled through the week's worth of old newspapers, grateful for the fact that Mustang was too much of a bachelor to clean out his magazine rack often. It made it far easier to research the disappearances, but the papers told him precious little he thought would be useful. So far there hadn't been a single body found, just thirteen people spirited away as they walked the nighttime streets of Central. It was strange, that many people gone and not a trace of a corpse anywhere. Given the ferocity of the attacker last night, Ed doubted he just took people home for milk and cookies.

But the only similarity the victims had in common was the time of their vanishing: any time from dusk till dawn. It only made sense; darkness made it harder for potential witnesses to see anything. Ed frowned, skimming through one of the articles. This couldn't be a serial killer. There didn't seem to be any criteria that triggered the kidnapping. There wasn't even a pattern to the areas they disappeared from. This was madness with not an iota of method to it.

The more he thought about it, the more it looked like these couldn't be the crimes of some random power-tripping killer. People like that left clues, left a trail, something that could be traced. And in this case, there was nothing left behind but bereaved families. It was eerie.

The words on the page started to swim in Ed's eyes, and he glared at them. He was feeling drowsy again, but he didn't dare lie down just yet. Al wasn't back yet. If Ed gave in to the urge to nap and fell into a coma, he'd never live it down.

Speaking of living things down, he wondered when Mustang was going to get around to making fun of him for this morning in the bathroom.

_"A shower? Are you sure you can reach the tap? Be careful not to get rinsed down the drain."  
_

_"Towels? That's wasteful. Don't you think a dry washcloth would suffice?"  
_

Ed ground his teeth together, which made his head throb harder until he stopped. The bastard probably hadn't said anything on purpose just to make Ed dread when he would say something. That seemed like a Mustang thing to do. It couldn't possibly be because of that surprised look loaded with veiled significance Ed had caught on his face when he'd seen the damage on Ed's back. He didn't know which idea he liked less, that the Colonel was playing some head-game with him or that Mustang actually thought he was too vulnerable a target in this state. It didn't seem likely, as he'd still managed to be a bastard to Ed in similarly open situations, but…

Oh, god, the jerk had seen him with his _hair _ down.

Ed slammed his flesh hand down on the table hard enough to distract him from the hot flush that stained his cheeks. Maybe he'd just been too _easy_ a target.

_"I would never insult a lady – oh, wait, it's you, Fullmetal. Maybe you should get a trim."  
_

_ "I only pick on people my own size. Mocking you right now is /i _below_ i me."  
_

"Fuck you, Colonel," Ed muttered, started to shake his head to banish the snide Mustang-comments from it, and ended up clutching the table as only a wave of dizzy pain resulted.

When the wave receded, Ed became aware of a knock at the front door. His first thought was that Al was far too polite sometimes, after all Mustang had already made it clear that they were staying here. And then he thought that perhaps the door had locked behind him when he'd left, so he hauled himself to his feet and moseyed to the door. Hm, not locked. He looked through the peephole.

A distorted and unfamiliar face stared unflinchingly right at the peephole. The woman was dark-haired and pretty, and she was wearing some odd brown outfit that looked like a uniform, definitely not military issue, and a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses that did not suit her rounded face.

"Package for Mr. Mustang," the unknown woman called, her voice musical and muffled by the door.

Ed frowned in annoyance. Fucking hell, now he was acting as Mustang's personal aide, signing for his packages. He braced himself for the cold and opened the door, crossing his bare arms over his chest for warmth.

"Colonel Mustang's not home," he said, glaring up at woman, who glanced first at the automail and then Ed's face.

He realized his mistake as soon as a dainty fist sucker-punched him square in the jaw with shocking force and sent him sprawling – the 'delivery girl' wasn't even holding a parcel. The door shut quietly as she walked into the room, a fact that Ed was only vaguely aware of as his senses were overcome. His brain felt jiggly and it was hard to think through the red haze of agony in his skull.

As if it was happening to someone far away, he felt a hand lifting him off the ground by the collar of his tank-top and slamming him into a wall. _That _ he felt acutely and somehow he managed to galvanize his limbs into a flailing defense, scrabbling to clap, to get away, to do _something_. This merely ended with him shoved spread-eagle against the wall, each of his wrists pinned next to his head in the grip of those impossibly, _inhumanly _strong hands.

Panic set in, making him shout and squirm, eyes rolling up at his captor. Goddammit, why did everyone who attacked him have to be taller, too? Barring Wrath, of course.

And her hand was cold – _too _cold, like ice – and strong around his flesh wrist. At some point the woman's ridiculously small glasses had fallen from her face, and Ed got a good look at the fiery orange-red irises.

"H-holy shit," he rasped. "No one told me that asshole had a big sister."

The woman grinned, baring long, cruelly pointed canines. "So you _are _ the Fullmetal Alchemist. Little kid like you won't be much more than a snack."

"Wha- what?" Ed sputtered, too enraged and confused by that comment to notice how close she was leaning until –

Ed's mouth formed a wordless 'O' as fangs sunk into the side of his neck, too low to hit the jugular. Oh mother_fucker _that hurt, that _hurt_, and then the suction began and _that_ hurt and was just skin-crawlingly _strange_, and the only thing that kept him from thrashing was the knowledge that he'd rip his neck open if he tried. He'd never felt so helpless, never felt so completely powerless and small and weak. The woman pressed against him, moaned against his throat as if she was getting off on the situation, the sick fuck, the twisted, deranged _monster_.

Things like this weren't real, they couldn't be. This could not be happening. Except it was, in broad daylight no less.

The moment didn't end, either. Every second dragged by with hideous sluggishness as the creature relentlessly and greedily drank his blood – his _blood_, for god's sake, and she was sloppy because he felt it trickling down to wet his tank-top. The stink of blood and her perfume combined with the intense pain and revulsion to made Ed want to retch but all he could manage was a high keening sound from the back of his throat.

"_Brother!_"

The woman let go as if she'd been burned, and Ed slid down the wall abruptly. His hands reached up instinctively to clutch at the wound, raw and oozing but not gushing like he'd feared. He struggled not to let his mind slide into the fuzzy blankness that threatened to envelope him. Shock. He had to fight it, because that had to have been Al. Al was here and that thought forced him hard back into his skin.

Al and the woman faced each other in the middle of the room. Al was in a fighting stance and the woman fearsome and horrible with blood smeared around her lips and darkening her teeth, which were bared in an animalistic snarl. Neither was paying any attention to him at the moment, and he knew this was the best chance he'd get. He clapped weakly and pressed his bloody hands to the wood floor.

The woman-thing whirled at the sound, but it was too late. Spikes of transmuted wood arced haphazardly up from the floor at her. She reacted with unreal speed, sliding out of the way like water until one slammed into her thigh from behind and she screeched wordlessly, clutching at it. Then Al kicked out and his metal foot connected solidly with her face. Ed heard a crunching sound, and the woman staggered backwards, her shrieks now muffled by a broken nose which gushed fitfully. She screeched again and leapt out the large, central window.

And climbed up the house. Ed heard her scrabbling on the side of the building, and Al followed her out into the street as Ed tried desperately to quell the terrified beating of his heart as well as staunch the blood still flowing from the bite. His breathing was thick and ragged, getting faster not slower. Hysterical. He was hysterical. He really hoped he snapped out of it because he didn't think his head could take it if Al had to slap him to return him to his senses.

"She's gone," Al said darkly as he re-entered the room, and Ed strained towards the voice like a lifeline. "She climbed away over the rooftops."

Well, at least that explained how that guy last night got away.

"Brother… Let me see," Al asked in a wavering voice. He was crouching down next to Ed, pulling his hands away from the wound. Al made a gasping noise despite the fact he had no lungs to gasp with. "What did she _do _ to you?"

Ed swallowed bile, leaning his much-abused head against the reassuringly cold metal of Al's chestplate. It helped.

"They're not chimeras, Al. I was wrong," he muttered in a rush. "They're not chimeras."

"Then what are they?"

He couldn't bring his scientific mouth to say it aloud. Instead, he closed his eyes and shook.

**  
**

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

"The means are right for taking  
Fade to grey  
Trying to be ruthless  
In the face of beauty,"

-_"Bruise Pristine" _ by Placebo

**Chapter Three**

"Colonel Mustang! Colonel Mustang!"

"One more question, Colonel!"

"What did the attacker look like? Did you see his face?"

"How does this situation affect the military's policy on martial versus civilian peacekeeping forces?"

"Is the Fullmetal Alchemist available for comment?"

Roy looked out over the sea of flashbulbs that stretched outwards for yards below the podium on the steps of his office building, and he was hard-pressed not to smirk. Oh, wouldn't his political rivals be pissed when they saw their least favorite man's picture in every paper from here to Aquroya. He'd have to bring Fullmetal home more often if this was the result.

Even as he thought it, he became ashamed of himself.

Guilt was a constant companion for him, so he wasn't surprised at the shame. What did surprise him was its intensity. Usually he could rationalize his methods, all means to a greater end. It worked at least some of the time, at any rate, and the only people who knew how his conscience plagued him were Hughes, Hawkeye, and to a lesser extent, Havoc.

Even so, he'd seen Edward in worse condition before, and he hadn't felt quite this disgusted with himself for capitalizing on those situations. Perhaps it was because those occasions had been orchestrated, or at least anticipated, and he'd had time to weigh his options beforehand and convince himself of the necessity. This time, it'd been dumb luck and Fullmetal's keen senses, and here he was building his image while Edward lay healing. It was…unfair. That said, it wasn't as if he hadn't felt culpable at all before, either. Quite the contrary. After the fiasco with Liore, his mood had been so bleak Hughes had taken him to get utterly smashed just to get him smirking again.

Or perhaps what had really driven it home this time was the fact that he'd seen Edward looking so unusually open, stripped of not only his shirt but of his usual defenses. He'd looked his age for once instead of a miniature adult, and Roy was caught completely off-guard. Fullmetal hadn't been Fullmetal in that moment, he'd just been Edward Elric, sixteen and beaten up. All of Roy's cool, level-headed calculations merely seemed cruel in hindsight, and he grieved for them anew.

Inwardly, at least.

"If the Central Police Department wishes for our aid, they only have to ask. I will do my best to be of service," he responded to a question from a lady reporter with demure yet sharp-witted look about her. He smiled at her as he said it, and allowed himself to be gratified by her flush.

A stirring on the stairs caused Roy to glance aside. Hughes was pushing his way through to him, and when he looked Roy in the eye, the Colonel felt his stomach clench.

"Now, if you all will excuse me, I have important matters to attend to," he said smoothly, smiling one last time for the cameras.

He ignored the ensuing protests as he stepped away from the podium. Hughes fell in step beside him, and whatever he had to say must be too sensitive to shout to him above the din. Roy waited until they were inside and en route to his office before he spoke.

"What is it?"

"I just got a call from Al. He was rather… shaken. He didn't give me the details, but something's gone very wrong with Ed," Hughes said quietly.

Roy felt a peculiar twist of emotion at that and his eyes widened. "How?"

"Al wouldn't say. But apparently Ed's hurt and the bleeding isn't stopping –"

"_Bleeding?_"

"Havoc's had some field medicine experience, hasn't he? Tell him to grab some sutures from the infirmary. And don't worry," Hughes said. There was a knowing glitter in his eye that Roy wasn't sure he liked. "Ed's too tough to let a little anemia to get the better of him."

Roy's mind whirled as he assimilated this information. Edward was bleeding, needed stitches, and they'd called Hughes instead of a doctor. And Hughes was telling him to bring one of his handful of trusted subordinates instead of bringing one of the doctors from the base. It didn't take a genius to deduce that this must be something they didn't want people they didn't trust to know about. If the attacker came back to silence the witnesses… Last night they'd been caught flat-footed, but even wounded surely Edward was more than a match for that punk now that he knew what to expect. Even if he wasn't, it wouldn't matter if a civilian doctor saw to his wounds, unless…

Suddenly he remembered Fullmetal's serious if woozy expression as he tried to convince Roy that the attacker was somehow superhuman. Even with the practical demonstration Edward had given him, he hadn't given it much credit. In the bright light of day, the idea lost credence.

But what if Edward had been correct? Of course. He ate, drank, and breathed alchemy, and chimeras were far from unheard of in the daily life of a State Alchemist. Fullmetal knew a chimera when he saw one. Roy could kick himself for dismissing Edward's instincts, especially since now it seemed his subordinate had ended up much worse off.

They'd reached the office by then, Hughes wisely keeping silent to let him think. Before Roy entered, though, he spoke.

"I'm going to have a car waiting at the side door for you in five minutes. Be sneaky," he warned unnecessarily. "The last thing we want is the press following us."

"Understood," Roy said grimly. Hughes departed at a good clip, and he entered the office.

He found Havoc, Breda, and Fury building a pyramid out of cards. Hawkeye was sitting at her desk, shooting annoyed glances at the trio while she and Falman organized a stack of folders. She saw him and quirked an eyebrow in the direction of the others, who hadn't noticed him yet. He pressed his lips together in irritation.

"Easy does it now," Breda told Fury, who was painstakingly easing the base for the two pinnacle cards onto the top two points.

"A-tennn-_tion_!" Roy bellowed in his best imitation of a drill sergeant.

All three jumped to their feet like puppets on strings, somehow managing to twist themselves into rigid positions of attention, saluting. Behind them, the pyramid wobbled and collapsed morosely. They gulped in unison when they saw the stern glare on Mustang's face. He looked them over and relented, saluting vaguely.

"At ease. But get back to work," he said. They fairly wilted from relief. "Hawkeye, make sure they do."

"Yes, sir," she replied a bit too emphatically, because Breda and Fury started to look nervous again.

"Havoc, accompany me."

"Where are we going, sir?" Havoc asked, taking out the toothpick he'd been chewing on in lieu of a cigarette.

Roy favored him with a humorless smirk. "To the rescue."

---------------------------------------

He'd been prepared for the worst and, he mused as he kicked broken wooden spikes across his sitting room floor, he hadn't been disappointed. His home was a chaotic war zone in jagged earth tones and smears of drying blood. Alphonse had been jittery with the need to apologize and clean up. Right now, he was outside drawing an transmutation circle in last night's snow around the shards of glass that used to be his window. Edward would probably be the one to undo what had happened to the floor.

Provided, of course, he'd come out of the bathroom.

"Ed, you're being unreasonable," Hughes said, upstairs. He was speaking to a locked door. "If you'd just let us help –"

"No way am I letting you get near me with a needle!" came the outraged shriek, clearly audible throughout the whole house.

Roy stared at the large splotch of red on his white wall. It streaked down towards the floor, as if someone had leaned there as they fell. He turned towards the stairs.

"I won't be the one with the needle, Ed. Havoc's got experience at this kind of thing –"

"What part of 'Leave me the hell alone' do you not understand?"

Roy sighed heavily. As he started toward the stairs, the light of the alchemical reaction flickered across his belongings, making the shadows spike sharp and dark. He started climbing.

"Boss, I promise I'll be gentle," Havoc tried cautiously. "It'll be over before you know it."

"No! I don't need stitches," Edward insisted at a marginally lower decibel.

Hughes and Havoc looked over at him as he approached. Something must have shown in his expression, because they both backed up for him when he planted himself squarely in front of his bathroom door.

"Fullmetal. Open this door. That's a direct order," he commanded in a frigid, brittle tone. He saw Havoc flinch out of the corner of his eye.

"Screw you, Mustang!"

"I don't have time for your insubordination. Open this door or I'll burn it down."

There was a considering pause before Edward said, "You wouldn't."

Roy hated when people called his bluffs. Time to switch tactics.

"This is childish. Come out and take your medicine like a man," he tried.

"I _told _ you already, I don't need to get stabbed repeatedly with a needle. I've been punctured enough times today," Fullmetal shouted.

"Punctured?" Hughes murmured, brows drawing together.

The three men in the hall exchanged uneasy glances. Alphonse had been gushingly apologetic about everything from the mess to calling for help to the scuffs on Havoc's boots, and had said very little about what had actually happened. There was time for that discussion later, though. The matter at hand was more pressing.

"Alphonse is upset, you know. He's the one who asked us to bring a doctor."

There was a derisive noise from behind the door. "No offense, but _Havoc _is hardly a doctor."

"He's right," Havoc said with a shrug.

Roy frowned him into silence and plowed ahead. "Nevertheless, your brother is very worried about you."

Silence.

"Has the bleeding stopped, Fullmetal?"

Silence. And then shuffling, and the door slowly creaked open. Fullmetal once more had his shirt off, but the thunderous expression on his face made him appear anything but vulnerable. He had a dishtowel clutched to the left side of his neck with his automail hand, and vibrant red was seeping through the white fabric. There were new bruises on his face as well. His braid hung over his other shoulder, and even that was caked with drying blood. He glared up at Roy, defiant and sullen, through his bangs.

Roy nodded sharply. "Very well. Havoc."

"Ah, boss. We probably should do this in there anyway. More light than the hallway," Havoc said apologetically, hefting the black medical bag he'd borrowed from the infirmary.

"Whatever," Edward snapped, spinning and retreating to sit on the closed lid of the toilet.

Havoc sighed and followed. He set the bag down and opened it as he knelt in front of the younger blond. Hughes hovered in the doorway while Roy entered and leaned on the sink. Edward's eyes locked on his face, pure venom in them. Roy returned the stare coolly. He may as well have said, 'This is for your own good, and you know it.' Edward was the first to look away, jaw muscles clenching.

"You wanna let go of the towel?" Havoc asked as he prepared the sterile needle and suturing thread. "Unless you want me to sew around your automail."

Edward frowned again, his eyes darting to each of the three older men. Roy kept his expression carefully neutral. Finally, Fullmetal sagged a little and let his automail hand slip defeatedly into his lap, taking the make-shift bandage with it.

Havoc's unlit cigarette tumbled out of his suddenly slack mouth. Hughes gasped from the doorway, and Roy felt the color drain from his own face.

The wound was not what Roy had been expecting. Instead of some large cut or gash, it was a three-inch patch of dark, angry purple-black flesh. Without the constant pressure of the towel over them, four quarter-inch holes in the center of the bruise welled with blood that soon started to spill in thin streams down Edward's shoulder. The holes looked deep. Puncture wounds. And the spacing of them…

Bite marks.

_"He… he had fucking _fangs_, Mustang."  
_

Havoc was the first to recover. He coughed, looking back down at his hands as they resumed preparations.

"Damn, boss. That is one killer hickey."

Roy would have expected a flustered denial at that, or some kind of disgusted exclamation at the rather tasteless joke, most likely both. He was given an uneasy surprise by the way what little color was in Edward's cheeks was washed away by a hunted look. He huddled in on himself a bit more, arms crossed close to his torso as he leaned forward. The movement made Roy glance at the flesh arm to see red proto-bruises in the shape of fingers around Edward's wrist.

"Just shut up and get it over with," Fullmetal muttered forbiddingly.

Hughes and Roy exchanged glances. It was time to get some answers. Hughes jerked his head towards the stairs and then began walking. Roy followed, shooting one last glance over his shoulders as Havoc began cleaning the wounds with alcohol pads.

It wasn't until they were halfway down the stairs that Roy realized Hughes expected at least some of the answers from _him_.

"So spill it. What does this have to do with the things you forgot to tell the police _and _ me?" Hughes asked, referring to the conversation they'd had on the phone just that morning.

Roy sighed again and resisted the urge to scrub a hand over his face. Then he briefly repeated Edward's suspicions from last night. Hughes had that preoccupied expression on his face that meant he was making connections he really wished he couldn't make. Roy knew how he felt. When he finished, Hughes crossed his arms and shook his head disbelievingly. He looked at Roy.

"I don't know whether to call the cops or Dr. Hellsing," he said with a confused smile that was only half joking.

Somehow a chuckle forced itself up through Roy's lips. "Neither, then. Looks like we're on our own."

Hughes leaned on the wall of the stairway. For a moment they were quiet, listening to Alphonse clanking ponderously through the snow outside and Edward's dead silence.

"It is a chimera, right? It's not really a – some kind of …" Hughes trailed off.

None of them wanted to put a name to it. The idea was ludicrous. This was the Twentieth Century, not the Dark Ages. Men were no longer ruled by superstition and fear of the darkness outside of the firelight. Alchemical and mechanical sciences had dispelled the notions of bogeymen in the night, save for the entertainment value in horror novels and movies.

Vampires simply did not exist. Everyone knew that.

So why couldn't Roy bring himself to say as much to Hughes?

"I'm going to make some coffee. You go get Alphonse inside for some cross-examination," he said instead. As he moved to pass on by, Hughes caught the cuff of his jacket. Roy turned to look him in the face.

Hughes had a gleam in his eye that told him he was being read. He didn't like that, especially because Hughes was one of the very few people who could do so accurately. He braced himself for some painfully insightful remarks.

"I don't think I thanked you before for getting Ed out of the bathroom," he said, startling Roy with the non-sequitur. A peculiar smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Roy shook him off. "Nothing to thank me for, Maes."

"Oh? Well, neither Havoc nor I were having any luck on that front."

"You two were coddling him."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hughes's knowing tone was really starting to grate on Roy's frayed nerves.

"You know as well as I that Fullmetal often doesn't do what is best for himself, and trying to reason with him or coax him just makes him more stubborn. I merely knew which buttons to push, and I'm not too much of a gentleman to push them," Roy explained rapidly from irritation.

"You understand him," Hughes said in a low voice.

Roy snorted, unsure whether to deny or confirm it. Edward was easily predictable most of the time. Or at least, his actions were. His _reactions_ however, were often more difficult.

"And he listens to you."

That actually got a little disbelieving chuckle out of him. "And you've gone around the bend at last."

"I'm serious," Hughes said, smile gone and Roy sobered at the unflinching regard. "Ed's stubborn, you've said it yourself. Do you really think if I'd said those things to him, he'd have come out?"

The automatic 'Yes,' was on the tip of his tongue, but Hughes's penetrating gaze stopped him. He considered for a long moment.

"No," he admitted reluctantly. "Coming from you, it would have been… a low blow. He probably would have stayed in there until he passed out from blood loss."

"Yet not only did he not feel that when you said it, he was persuaded. He was spitting mad, yes, but he still listened to you."

"What are you getting at, Maes?" Roy snapped at last, his patience gone. Now was not the time to be playing games.

Hughes pushed his glasses up on his nose and held them there, fingers splayed, obscuring his face save for the returning smirk. "It isn't just anyone Ed lets get under his skin. He trusts you, whether or not either of you admits it. Just letting you know, Roy.

"Now, where's that coffee? Or do you have anything stiffer? God knows I could use it," Hughes said loudly, more jovially than necessary. It was the signal that the conversation was over. "On second thought, I'll make the coffee. Why don't you see if you can find any clues or something?"

Hughes patted him on the shoulder as he moved towards the kitchen, leaving Roy with a turbulent look on his face that he was glad no one else was around to see.

---------------------------------------

The afternoon sun of Central winter hung overhead like a glaring cycloptic eye, and there was no relief in sight for Mercy. She'd finally collapsed several miles from the townhouse on a rooftop of an apartment building. There was no shade, but she daren't drop to street level in her current state. She imagined the bloody postal-worker look would not help her blend in.

Her nose had healed itself well enough after she'd set it, but she'd bled too much of the Fullmetal Alchemist's blood from her wounds to put the energy into healing her leg. She glared through watering eyes at the gaping, bloodstained hole that ran all the way through her thigh. She'd pulled the spike out and left it several rooftops back.

"A wooden stake," she muttered sardonically. "Little fucking punk."

Her body was starting to ache from the exposure to sunlight, and her eyes felt like burnt-out holes in her head. She closed them and contemplated the inevitability that awaited her when she returned to the mansion. Her master did not tolerate failure. At best, she'd suffer with Kerwin in the pit. At worst…

She thought of the room that smelt of chalk and death, and she shuddered. If she'd known this was only an imperfect immortality, she would never have agreed to the terms.

On top of everything else, she was thirsty all over again.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Mercy jerked, rising in the blink of an eye, fangs bared. Her arms curled into a fighting position as she searched for the source of the drawling, sarcastic tenor. It didn't take very long. There was no cover on the roof, after all.

An androgynous young man with a wild mane of coarse dark hair stood a few yards away. His clothes were nothing more than scraps of some tight black material, but it didn't seem cold in the least. He grinned at her, a leer made of all pointed teeth.

"I haven't seen one of _your _ kind around for a while," he said, taking a stalking step towards her.

She backpedaled, eyes wide. He knew what she was? What they all were? But her master's secrets were just that, secrets. _No one _ knew what they were, what they _really _ were, besides him.

"Who are you?" Mercy demanded.

"Who, me? Well, names are irrelevant, aren't they? Just think of me as… a cousin. A _distant_ cousin," he said with a look of unconcealed disdain. "You are pathetically weak compared to me. Look at you, can't even heal yourself properly."

Before she could blink, he was standing next to her and sneering into her eyes. She gasped and staggered. He laughed as she fell gracelessly onto the snow-covered shingles.

"Who were you fighting, anyway? It'd take a pretty strong human to fuck you up this badly," he asked in a bored tone.

"The Fullmetal Alchemist," she answered before she thought, unable to keep the venom from her voice.

The creature – because by now she had decided that he definitely wasn't human – stilled suddenly. Mercy flinched away from the expression of pure hate that contorted his features. His hands clenched into fists and he trained his eyes into the distance.

"_He _ did it? Damn, that fucking shrimp gets around, doesn't he?" he mused darkly. He turned his attention back to her, and she flinched again. He smiled, slow and nasty, as he crouched down next to her. "You're just lucky I hate him more than I hate your kind. Show me your mark."

"Wh-what?" she stammered. How could he know all this?

"Your _mark_, you stupid cow. I know you have one," he snarled, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her.

She was somewhat surprised to note that he wasn't as physically strong as Kerwin, but she didn't doubt that he was a thousand times more deadly for all that. She brushed his hands aside, trying not to cringe at the irate noise he made in his throat as she did so. He held off though when he realized she was unbuttoning the baggy brown uniform shirt she'd stolen from one of her previous victims.

Her mark was on her left breast above her heart. They all had one there. The blood-red ankh was the same, its arms stylized like batwings. In the center of the loop was the part of the mark that changed from person to person. Hers was a heart. Her master thought it was quite fitting, given her name meant compassion. She found both mark and name rather ironic under the circumstances.

The creature sneered at it with open distaste. With an air of touching something disgusting, he placed a fingertip over the heart -

Mercy's entire body jerked spastically and she thought she might be screaming. It was like the rush she got from feeding except it was multiplied a hundred-fold. Her nerves were on fire, buzzing with so much power. She felt alive in ways she hadn't in far too long, every sense intensified to almost pain.

And then it was over. It had only lasted a few seconds, but she was breathing as hard as if she'd just run all the way to the mansion and back. She stared slack-jawed at the creature beside her.

"Wh-what did you do, just now?" she demanded, her voice breathy.

"Gave you a taste of _real_ power," he replied, condescending and smug. He cocked his head at her. "You have no idea, do you? What I am? I wonder if the person who made you this way would know."

Mercy froze as he leaned closer. They were almost nose to nose. He was looking at the frozen blood on the icy skin of her chin and neck.

"You bit Fullmetal."

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"Hmm."

The creature flicked out a rough, wet tongue and tasted the blood on her neck. She held very still until he pulled away.

"I didn't heal you for nothing, you know," he said coldly, eyes narrow and dangerous. "You owe me now. And I want you to make that little bastard _suffer _ the next time you see him. I want you to make him _bleed_. But don't forget that he is _my _ enemy. If you kill him before I can, I'll hunt down each and every one of your kind and rip your hearts out with my bare hands."

And with that warning, he was gone, bounding over the rooftops with breathtaking grace and speed.

Mercy sat up shakily, catching her breath. She looked down at her leg, and sure enough it had healed fully. Her thirst was gone as well. With trembling hands she began to button her shirt.

How… interesting. Her master would certainly like to know about this. And that fact might just save her from the ultimate punishment. Or so she hoped.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

"And these children that you spit on  
As they try to change their worlds  
Are immune to your consultations  
They're quite aware of what they're going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes  
Turn and face the strange  
Ch-ch-Changes  
Don't tell them to grow up and out of it"

- _"Changes"_ by David Bowie

**Chapter Four**

"- and that's how she got away."

Ed stared at his hands on the table, clenched around each other, as he finished speaking. He was rather proud that he'd managed to keep his teeth from chattering during the whole tiring speech. His automail ports were aching from the cold again. The sitting room window had only been fixed about twenty minutes ago. The frigid winter air had chilled the house so that all four men could see their breath as they sat in Mustang's kitchen, despite the roaring blazes Hughes had built in both the fireplace in the sitting room and the potbellied kitchen stove.

No one was saying anything. The only sound was the crackling of the fire in the stove and the metallic plinking of Al adjusting himself nervously next to him. Ed's head was feeling better for the silence, even if he did feel rather floaty. He wasn't sure which was more at fault for that, the blood loss or the painkillers Al and Havoc had insisted he take.

"So…" Mustang began at last in that careful, distant tone that meant he was not at all showing what he really thought. He was sitting across the table from Ed and Al, fingers steepled. "You're certain she was related to the attacker from last night."

Ed nodded sharply once, biting back a sarcastic remark.

"You realize what you're describing here is highly unorthodox," Mustang said.

"Well fucking _duh_, Colonel," Ed snapped, hunching his shoulders.

Havoc snorted into his coffee mug. Mustang shot him a quelling look.

"Do either of you boys have any theories on what this… woman might be?" Hughes broke in.

Ed glanced at him, then back down at the table. It was so obvious. It just couldn't be true. He shook his head.

"Not a clue," Al added, and Ed could feel his brother's gaze on him.

"I dunno, it seems pretty simple to me. Haven't you ever read _Dracula_, boss?"

Ed snapped his head up to glare at Havoc. "Don't be stupid. Vampires are nothing more than fairy tales meant to scare children and weak-minded fools."

"That fairy tale just took a chunk out of you," Mustang remarked dryly. Ed turned his glare on the man who was watching him with hooded eyes.

"Don't tell me you believe that some kind of… _vampire_ cult is the reason for all the missing people," Ed said in shock. Out of all of them, he'd thought a fellow alchemist like Mustang would be the hardest one to convince that Ed wasn't going insane.

The Colonel shook his head. "Fullmetal – "

"Now wait," Hughes interrupted, holding up a hand of his own. "Perhaps we shouldn't dismiss that possibility so quickly."

Every head at the table turned to stare at him. He blanched and scratched the back of his head nervously.

"What I mean is, this case has all the earmarks of a supposed vampire attack. These things have increased strength and speed, and they drink human blood through their fangs. I find it hard to rationalize that away. Even supposing they were some kind of human and animal hybrid chimera, what kind of animal could they be combined with to gain those characteristics? Not even vampire bats have those qualities," he explained.

"You're forgetting something, Hughes," Mustang broke in, sounding as he himself had just remembered it as well. "This girl attacked Ed during the day. Vampires are supposed to burn up in sunlight."

There was a pause as everyone digested this fact. There was something niggling in the back of Ed's mind, some detail that he'd forgotten to mention. When it hit him, his right hand slammed down on the table hard enough to make all the men jump and stare at him.

"She was wearing sunglasses," he explained tensely. "I thought they were part of her disguise, to hide her weird eyes. But maybe they were more than that."

"Sunglasses, eh? Too bad you didn't ask if they had ultra-violet protection," Hughes mused.

"I don't have to ask. They fell off in the fight," he explained, moving to stand up. "They should still be in the other room."

Al clamped a giant hand down on his automail shoulder and forced him back down in his seat. "Somebody else can look for them. You should keep resting."

Ed looked up rebelliously into his brother's metal face, but the rant about independence died at the worry he saw in Al's glowing eyes. He grudgingly relaxed. Mustang shot a glance at Havoc, who sighed and got up. Grumbling about grunt work, he left the kitchen to search.

"It's not much of a clue, but it's a start. If we find those glasses, we can start checking all the opticians around the city for the maker, maybe get the name of the buyer," Hughes said.

"It's the _only_ clue we've got," Mustang said, shaking his head. "I don't like the looks of this. Not one bit."

"You'll like it less when you hear my next suggestion," Hughes replied.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" Ed asked, a smirk beginning to play on his lips. Anything that made the Colonel uncomfortable was fine by him.

Hughes took a breath and plunged in. "You should hole up in a hotel somewhere."

"Come again?" Ed asked after a beat.

"Look, these people – things, whatever, know where to find you. They know you're military thanks to that article in the paper, so if they can't find you here, they'll look for you on base. They also know that this is the Colonel's house, and they could be planning on coming back for him, too. The way I see it, this place is too risky to stay in until we get things sorted out," Hughes explained, grinning as if it would lighten the blow.

Ed would have been at more a position to laugh at the Colonel's slack-jawed shock had he not been horrified as well. He thought he heard a tinny snigger from Al's direction, but his brother, his own flesh and blood, wouldn't betray him like that. To make sure, he stomped on Al's foot. For all the good that would do.

"No way!" he shouted, pointing accusatorily at Mustang. "We're not going to some – some run-down shack of a hotel with _that_."

"For once we agree, Fullmetal," Mustang said, recovering his composure enough to fix his friend with an impressive glare.

"Tough. You'll just have to cope," Hughes said. "After all, it's only for a few days. I have faith that the two of you can learn to cope." His smile turned to a full-on grin as he went on, "Besides, this way, Mustang will be able to make sure this doesn't happen again. Right, _heroic_ Flame Alchemist?"

Mustang glared and commented with acid calm, "That's the idea, isn't it, Hughes?"

"Like hell," Ed argued a bitter taste in his mouth. "Al and I did just fine by ourselves today. We don't need Mustang to baby-sit us."

Hughes and the Colonel exchanged a lightning-quick glance that gave Ed pause. He was just about to demand to know what _that_ was all about when Al shifted nervously.

"Uh, Lieutenant," Al piped up uncertainly. "You said the two of them. What about me?"

Ed's head snapped up to look at his brother, then at the other two at the table. He replayed the conversation, and sure enough, Hughes had carefully not mentioned that it was supposed to be three of them at the hotel. And it was supposed to be _three_. Not just he and Mustang, of course not, that was just insanity.

"Well, the point of them getting out of here is so they can be incognito," Hughes said. Gently, he continued. "No offense intended, Al, but the fact is you aren't the most easily disguised individual."

"They'll be after him, too!" Ed objected, finally realizing that Hughes _was_ insane. "That woman saw him, too, you know."

Hughes held up a hand, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Ed, but he would attract too much of the wrong kind of attention in a public setting."

"But I want to help Brother find out what these things are, and who's going to make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble –"

"Whaddaya mean, wrong kind of attention? As long as we're together, we can keep each other safe –"

"Fullmetal, Alphonse," Mustang's stern voice cut through the simultaneous objections. "Hughes is right. They know what he looks like. Two people fitting our description checking into a hotel is a coincidence, but two people and a suit of armor is a red flag they'd be idiots not to notice. The less we advertise our presence, the safer we'll all be."

"So… so where am I supposed to _go_?" Al asked, his voice quivering a bit.

"I'll take you to stay at Schezka's place. No one would suspect her, and she'll be glad of the chance to pay you guys back for getting her a job," Hughes said with a placating smile. "Plus, I'm sure she'd love to get out of work to take you to the library to work with Ed."

"If that's the case, why can't I stay with Schezka, too?" Ed demanded.

"I'd like to say you could, but this is too dangerous," Hughes replied earnestly. "It seems it's either you or Roy these… people are after. The woman mentioned both of you by name. And it's going to be risky for Schezka to have just Al around, but if you were there as well, the chance of something happening would increase dramatically. Please, Ed, try to understand."

"No! Find a new plan, because there's no way I'm abandoning Al –"

"Brother," Al said quietly, and Ed stopped short at the defeated note in his voice. "It's all right. _They're_ right."

"Al…" Ed tried to form a logical argument to trump Hughes's, but it wasn't working. Especially when all he could think about was how helpless he'd been that afternoon – not all that long ago, to be honest – before Al had come back. His own peace of mind was not something likely to sway the older officers' calculations, and he certainly wasn't going to admit such a telling weakness in front of Mustang.

"I know you're upset, Ed, but this is the best way," Hughes said at last, not unkindly. "You and Al will both be safe, and you can still work together on this. And as for staying with the Colonel, you've been under Roy's roof for almost a full day already and you haven't killed each other yet."

"But is it really such a wise idea to press our luck?" Mustang asked wryly. "And anyway, I have a date tomorrow night. I suppose if we got separate rooms -"

"You are _not_ bringing your women to the hotel!" Ed seethed, all too happy to have some kind of outlet for the impotent anger that filled him at having to part ways with Al. Even _if_ the reasons for it made sense, and the fact they did only made him angrier because there was nothing he could do about it.

"Women?" Mustang raised an eyebrow. "As in more than one? Well, I'm flattered that you think I'm man enough, but I generally go about these things one at a time," he finished with a smirk.

"You're disgusting," Ed accused to cover the blush he felt rising in his cheeks thanks to the man's deliberate misinterpretation.

"And you're short. We all have these _little_ failings," the Colonel retorted easily.

"_What_ did you just say!"

As the argument escalated, Al stood to head for the hills. He called over his shoulder, "I'll… just go pack Brother's things, then."

"Quiet, both of you," Hughes commanded. "Cancel your date, Roy. And quit baiting Ed. We have more important things to worry about right now."

Ed swallowed the diatribe that was still fighting to burst free, and slumped heavily against the back of the chair. He winced, mentally cursing himself for forgetting the state of his back, and leaned forward over the table again. He glanced up just in time to catch Mustang's eyes for a split second before they slid to Hughes. He frowned. Certainly Mustang didn't just look… guilty. He put it down to too many blows to the head.

"I guess we'll go to the hotel," he grudgingly muttered, ignoring the facts that Al had already decided for them and there hadn't really been much of a choice to begin with. "But it has to be one near the First Branch. I don't care how much you guys seem to think that these things are supernatural, there are no such things as vampires. I'm going to find a way to fucking prove it to you."

Even as he said it, he felt doubt digging into his mind like fangs. He had a sinking feeling this was the start of something big. Something ominous and threatening in more than just the physical sense. And he didn't like his absolute belief in alchemy and science shaken like this. He couldn't let it be shaken. These things had to be explained by alchemy, or the world really didn't make any kind of sense or follow any kind of law at all.

He shivered. No. He wouldn't even think like that. He couldn't afford to. He swallowed hard, feeling the ache in the wound on his throat beneath the bandages.

"All right," Hughes said. "Any preferences on your part, Roy?"

The Colonel shook his head. He looked distant, as if he was disinterested with the entire conversation now, and that just made Ed want to snarl at him some more.

"Then I'll make your reservations. Ed… Why don't you clean yourself up a bit?" Hughes finished with a tactful nod at Ed's still-bloody braid.

"Right," Ed agreed tightly, and he braced his hands on the table to stand. He was glad he did, because sitting still while the medication had worked its way into his system left him unprepared for the wave of light-headedness that came with the movement. He swayed and clutched at the table.

"Ed, are you all right?" Hughes asked. Both he and Mustang had half-stood, either to go about their business or to catch –

_Definitely_ to go about their business. Ed gritted his teeth against the dizziness.

"I'm _fine_. It's not like this is the worst that ever happened to me," he growled, and slowly released his grip on the table. Dammit, he hated being doped up, especially when he needed to be sharp.

"Well, I'm going to go pack some things for the week," Mustang said airily, stretching upright at last. "Hurry up, Fullmetal. You'll have to fix the floor before we leave."

Ed sneered through the suddenly much more obvious fuzziness in his head and swaggered – _not_ staggered, he wanted to make that clear – to the door, brushing past Mustang as the man paused with a mocking gesture for him to go ahead. The bastard was smirking again. Leave it to Mustang to reduce both of them to bickering even when their neat little scientific world had just been turned on its ear.

He climbed the stairs slowly, feeling as if his legs were made of some kind of noodle. The Colonel clomped along behind him, and Ed noted with irritation that despite Mustang's impatient words, he was being perfectly quiet about Ed's pace. This was followed by the sudden conclusion that perhaps Mustang was following him on purpose, and Ed's temper flared hot and clear.

He didn't need Mustang of all people looking over his shoulder making sure he didn't pass out on the stairs. It wasn't as if the man even gave two shits about him beyond what he could do for his precious reputation. He saw Ed as a commodity, an asset, practically property. And then unbidden memories entered into Ed's mind: how Mustang had invited him over last night, the tea, the lack of smart remarks this morning, how quickly he had arrived after Al had called Hughes, and that odd look he'd caught in Mustang's eyes just minutes before. Not to mention how he'd basically opened the doors of his home to Ed and Al.

Anger, suspicion, and vague guilt swirled inside Ed, fusing into a confused, tense lump somewhere in his solar plexus. Dammit, why did the Colonel have to pick _today_ to be multi-faceted? Knowing him, he had planned it just to aggravate Ed that much more.

This really wasn't helping the dizziness at all, either. Ed's hand on the banister was white-knuckled as he half-stepped, half-dragged himself up the last stair. Why the hell was he so fucking woozy, anyway? He'd taken the dosage recommended on the prescription…. But then, that dose hadn't taken into account the shortage of blood in his veins, and that meant the medication was more concentrated in what was left of his bloodstream.

So it only made sense when the hand on the banister went just a hair too limp and he listed sideways. His vision was tunneling, and there was a rushing sound in his ears. It wasn't the first time he'd fainted in his life, but he was _not_ going to faint, not here, not now. He threw an arm out to brace himself for the collision with the floor or the wall -

Only to find his left hand pressed to Mustang's chest through his uniform coat as the Colonel grabbed him around the waist to keep him from falling. Ed took it as a sign of how out of it he was when he didn't raise his right hand to punch the asshole in the face. Instead, he let himself be steadied, not that he really could do much else in this state. He fought to retain consciousness, trying to focus on something, anything to avoid the worse than death fate of fainting in _Roy Mustang's_ arms. Shit, he wouldn't be able to look himself in the eye.

"-llmetal. _Edward_. Breathe," Mustang was saying, voice sounding as if it was filtering through cotton.

"'M breathin'," Ed mumbled thickly, and tried doing that more.

"What's going on? Brother!" Al exclaimed, and Ed heard him rattle hurriedly out from the guest room. "Brother, are you all right?"

That question was really starting to grate on his nerves, but he couldn't even manage to glare right now so he tried just nodding. The darkness in his eyes started to fade after a few moments, and he found himself peering into Mustang's face from a much closer distance than he was used to. There was a tight look about the man's eyes and mouth, but when he saw Ed blink at him, the lines relaxed in a flash of something that might have been mistaken for relief. It was gone in a second, regardless, and Ed was positive he was imagining things again.

"Can you stand?" Mustang asked in a calm, low tone.

Mustang's eyes were very close. Ed had never really paid much attention before, but they were very dark, more so in the dimness of the hallway. They seemed to go on forever, and Ed almost thought he was passing out again, like he was drowning.

It was at this point that Ed's mind and motor skills both decided he'd had enough.

Jerkily, awkwardly, he shoved himself out of Mustang's grip and found himself tilting again. This time, Al's familiar oversized hands caught his arms and held him upright. The chill in the air was all the colder because he could feel the absence of a warmth he hadn't even registered until it was gone.

"I'm _fine_," Ed said, but he sounded out of it even to his own ears.

"I can see that," the Colonel said in a tone that implied just the opposite. "Alphonse. Get him cleaned up."

"No, I don't need –"

"Yes, Colonel," Alphonse spoke over Ed's objections, and when the hands on his shoulders began to tug him towards the bathroom, he had little choice but to follow. Mustang stood in the hallway, his expression inscrutable as he watched until Al closed the door behind them.

As soon as he heard the door latch shut, Ed sagged with such rapidity that Al gave a little wordless cry and caught him roughly in his haste. The jarring movement drew a wheezing near-whimper from Ed. More gently, Al pulled him to the bathtub and leaned him down against the porcelain.

"Brother," Al said, his tone a mix of consternation and concern. "You shouldn't push yourself so hard."

"Fucking drugs," Ed grunted roughly when he could. The swimming in his head was only getting worse. "I hate being doped up, I hate it, hate it, _hate_ it."

"Isn't it better than being in pain, though?" Al asked as he began to shuck his brother's black jacket and undershirt.

"Depends on who y' ask," Ed said. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and words were getting harder to form.

"Brother… Are you mad at me? For agreeing with them about going to Schezka's?"

"…No, Al. Not mad, but… I just don't know what I woulda done. Today. If ya di'n't show up when ya did," Ed admitted in voice so low it was almost a whisper. He felt Al's large fingers undoing his braid, heard the crunching of the dried blood matted there. He shuddered, goosebumps peppering his exposed skin.

"But you'll have the Colonel with you," his little brother reminded him. "I know you don't like him, but he wouldn't let something bad happen to you, you know."

"Huh. Saysssyou," Ed slurred. His eyes felt really heavy, like they'd been transmuted to lead when he hadn't been paying attention.

"It's stupid to keep hating him at this point, don't you think? You're wasting a lot of energy on it." Al cranked the bath's tap on. "You'll have to tell me if it's too hot or too cold, okay?"

"Ah.. uh-huh."

"And honestly… I don't know if you saw it because you were too busy shouting, but he is really worried about us. About you. You'll have to trust him sometime."

The water was too warm for it to be really comfortable when Al leaned him further back to start washing his hair, but he found it soothing when the rest of him was aching and numb and cold all over. Even if the position was uncomfortable, Ed felt himself relax even more as Al's hands massaged his scalp firmly.

"'Snot that I don' trust 'im," Ed heard himself say but it was hard to tell if it really was _his_ mouth that was moving. "Smirkin' bastard jus' getssson m' nerves. Can't figure him out. Dunno why he does th' things he does."

"It's simple isn't it? He cares about us."

Al's voice seemed to be coming from a down a long, echoing hallway. Ed couldn't help a sarcastic smile at that even as his eyes finally drifted fully closed and stayed that way.

"'M holdin' my breath f'r th' Valentine," was the last thing he remembered saying.

---------------------------------------

Slim, gloved fingers folded themselves over a copy of the evening edition news that had Colonel Mustang's self-satisfied picture smiling on the front page. The thin, regal man sat correctly in his elegant chair at the dinner table. The silverware and china on the table were gleamingly immaculate, unsoiled by food. He was a man raised properly, after all, and even if he no longer needed such vulgar nutrients as steak or asparagus, the niceties must be preserved. At least he still had use for his heirloom crystal snifters.

His spectacles had been set aside when the sun set, so there was no barrier between his displeased gaze and Mercy's despairing one as she stood miserably at the far end of the long dinner table. Neitherworth stood at what passed for attention to him near the door, picking his teeth with a knife and watching with mild interest.

"You have failed me, my dear. I thought you of all my children would be more than enough to deal with an uncouth lout of a child, but I have overestimated you. It will not happen again," he said, mild regret dripping from every word.

"No, sir, it will not," Mercy replied, dropping her eyes submissively even as a tremor ran visibly through her.

"Or perhaps I have underestimated this brat-alchemist. His amazing deeds have traveled far and wide for a reason, after all, though I suspect the tales have grown taller in the process," he said, a wintry smile gracing his features.

"Sir?"

"Fear not, my dear. I will see to your punishment myself," he reassured her. The tremor became more pronounced. "Neitherworth."

"Yessir?" came the answering rumble.

"Go to the Mustang house. They may try to flee, and I do not want to lose their scent. Bring me news of what you find, but under no circumstances are you to be seen. It is time for a gentleman to step in, little as I like to dirty my hands." He curled his lip slightly at that, and just a hint of fang showed between his slender lips.

"Yessir. Anythin' else y' need me to do?" Neitherworth grunted, sheathing his weapon somewhere in the inside folds of his non-descript grey trenchcoat.

"No," the thin man said with a stern warning glance. "Subtlety, my dears. That is what is lacking from this situation. An all-out attack this soon would be foolish now that their guard is up. If we cannot bring Fullmetal to us by force, we must lure him. To do that, we need some time to know our enemy, as it were. Every man has a weak point, and Fullmetal shall reveal his in time."

"Yessir," Neitherworth agreed in the bored tone he got every time he did not understand his master's orders, but followed them anyway. "I'll just leave now, shall I?"

"If you would be so kind," he replied, so polite that it had to be mocking.

"I'll call on the telly-phone if'n I find somethin'," Neitherworth called over his shoulder as he exited at a good clip.

The thin man relaxed his hands, staring at the picture of the Colonel, a hint of an ironic smile around his mouth. It was a pity the man was so beautiful and not in his possession. Perhaps something could be arranged.

"Sir," Mercy spoke, low and uncertain.

"I do not recall giving you permission to speak," he responded icily.

"With the utmost respect, sir, there is something more I need to tell you," she said.

He looked up, eyes narrowing. Mercy was not looking at him, still staring meekly at the fine Xingian rug.

"Why did you not mention this earlier?"

"It is something that I felt deserved discretion, sir," she said.

He raised a refined eyebrow. "Do explain, child."

Mercy hazarded a fleeting glance at his face, and then spoke. He listened to her recite an encounter with an unknown man, and he felt his mouth actually water when she described the sheer amount of power this creature possessed. When she finished, she looked up to gauge his reaction. He carefully kept his face blank. After all, the help always gossiped more than any of the ladies in Society.

"I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said into the pause. He picked up his brandy snifter and swirled the dark red liquid in it thoughtfully.

"It is my pleasure to be of service, sir," Mercy replied quietly.

"Hm. In light of this new information, I will be too busy this evening to punish you properly. You may consider yourself lucky, my dear. However, you are to refrain from visiting the city until further notice, and no sneaking in a bite on the sly. My home is not your personal buffet," he admonished.

"Of course not, sir."

He waved a hand vaguely. "You are excused. I must have solitude while I digest."

"Thank you, sir." Mercy bowed low, and crept out of the room.

A sip at his glass helped sooth his stirring emotions, and he licked his lips almost daintily, savoring the taste.

So, what the first half of the tablet had referred to obliquely _was_ true. There were more perfect forms to be attained. Perhaps this enigmatic youth would be able to further advise him on how to achieve such flawlessness, though from Mercy's report the creature had nothing but contempt for them all. Besides, there was no way to trace the creature back to its lair, or its master. Unless he popped up again, they would just have to bide their time.

Although, this did give him a tingle of danger. After all, the creature did seem to know their weaknesses, the flaws in their design. He'd tried his hardest to rectify those with modifications of his own – for example, the resistance to sunlight had been due to his ingenuity. Though, with Mercy on probation, it might be prudent to lighten Kerwin's sentence as well. For all that Neitherworth was a man of many talents, he could not be everywhere at once. They would need all the numbers they could get.

But once he had the stone, none of this would matter. A creeping smile wreathed his face, which he propped on his fisted hand, and he chuckled to himself. True immortality was at hand, and then he would prove his superiority to all these military fools, with not an iota of refinement to their brutish names.

It was in his blood, after all.

---------------------------------------

Roy scrubbed his face tiredly as he sat in one of the two semi-comfortable cushioned chairs beside the small table in the hotel room. The phone sat on the table near the wall, and he wearily picked up the receiver. While Hughes and Havoc had their orders to fill Hawkeye in, he knew he would be in for it if he didn't muster the will to at least apologize for skipping out on the better half of the day.

But first, there was something else he had to attend to. The phone in his hand began making an irate buzzing sound that let him know it had been left off the hook too long. He started minutely, then reached over and hit the cradle to regain a dial tone. He dialed and listened to the rings.

"Hello?"

"Hi there," Roy purred in his best purring tone, the one he saved for occasions when he wanted to avoid being on the receiving end of a hysterical rant.

"Roy, baby. It's good to hear from you. I read the paper today. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Not a scratch on me. Were you worried?"

"Only a lot, you big jerk. You could have called sooner."

"Sorry, but duty calls."

"I suppose I'll let you make it up to me tomorrow night," came the answering purr.

Roy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "About that… I'm not going to be able to make it."

"Oh. I see." A long sigh. "Well, I guess I understand this time what with the attack and everything. But you're going to make it up to me, right?"

"We'll see how everything goes. I'm going to be swamped for a long time by this, I think. The police may still want my help, and I've got a lot of paperwork to sort through because of it all," Roy embellished shamelessly. "I'll call you when I have a minute to breathe."

"…Did you just give me the 'don't call me, I'll call you' speech?"

"Jared, be reasonable. You know how busy my work keeps me –"

"Oh, no, you don't get to pull that on me. That's three times in a row you've cancelled on me. If you don't want to see me, just say so already."

Roy frowned deeply, sinking in his chair a bit and pressing the fingers of his free hand to his forehead. He was not in the mood to deal with this now. "If you're going to pick a fight, then I don't want to see you."

"You asshole! How could you –"

Roy hung up the phone abruptly and leaned forward in his chair.

"That… could have gone better," he muttered. He already regretted it a little. Jared had been one of his better male lovers, very discreet, very passionate, and very attractive. Oh well, the way his life was shaping up these days, he'd be lucky to have some 'me' time in the shower. And how awkward would _that_ be, knowing his youngest subordinate was sleeping only feet away?

A slight rustle made him look up. Edward, having passed out an hour before at the townhouse, was sleeping like the dead in the farthest of the two double beds, sprawled ungainly across the top of the comforter. He had not roused when they carried him into the car, nor when they moved him into the hotel, nor even when Al tried to wake him to say goodbye.

Havoc sheepishly admitted he should have checked the warning label on the prescription – sure enough, it warned in bold letters 'May Cause Drowsiness.' Roy just shook his head at the quack that had assigned such a medication to someone with a concussion who should be woken constantly. Roy frowned worriedly. Fullmetal had taken a number of knocks today on top of the damage of last night and it was all coupled with the blood loss and medication. He fervently hoped that Edward did not fall into a coma while he slept.

Speaking of which, it was something of a novelty to see Edward this quiet. In the dim light of the table lamp, he seemed robbed of his usual irrepressible energy and drive. His hair was still damp from the wash Alphonse had given it, unbound and fanning and tangling against the white pillows. His face was relaxed as it never was when he was awake, and he looked… less young than Roy had expected him to.

A little unnerved, he peered closely. Yes, indeed. It seemed Edward was finally starting to outgrow his childishly round face, the cheekbones and chin becoming more pronounced and refined. He was turning out to be more elegant of feature than Mustang had anticipated. His mouth was open slightly as he snored faintly, and the pink tip of a tongue darted out to wet slightly chapped lips. Roy couldn't help the way his glance lingered there for a second too long.

He looked away, thoroughly unnerved at this point. He had _not_ just wondered if _Fullmetal_, of all people, had ever been kissed. And even if he had, it was merely an absent thought, idle curiosity. So what if Edward was outgrowing his childlike comeliness and into a striking adulthood? It would take a blind man not to notice, and Roy was not blind.

Not by a long shot.

He realized his eyes had slid back over to Edward and he tore them away again.

Good God, he must be more shaken up by all this vampire nonsense than he thought. It wasn't like he was… attracted to Fullmetal. That notion was so inappropriate as to be ridiculous. Besides, when he felt the need to walk the other side of the street, he was much more careful about it than his womanizing. The only people in his command who knew he played for both teams, as it were, were Hughes and Hawkeye, and they only knew out of necessity - if they were going to support him to the top, they had to be made aware of what could possibly be used against him, after all. Somehow he didn't think it'd fit their ideas of prudence if he seduced Edward to his bed. Which he was not at all considering in the first place.

Fullmetal chose that moment to make some kind of sharp, exclamatory noise and twitch onto his side. Roy jumped, and he stared at Edward, who was now facing him and still fast asleep. His eyebrows were drawn together and his teeth gritted together. He made another gasping sound, and Roy decided that Edward was probably not going to fall into a coma because as far as he knew, coma patients didn't have nightmares.

"Nnno," Fullmetal murmured, voice soft and blurred by sleep.

Roy sighed again and stood. He didn't know if Edward would be dreaming about today or one of the many horrifying sights he'd seen in his short lifetime, but he did know that he himself was not going to listen to it. For one, it would be hard to get to sleep if the other occupant of the room was groaning and thrashing around, and secondly Roy felt that Edward had had a rough enough day today without adding nightmares into the mix.

He walked around his bed and came to stand beside Fullmetal. He reached out a hand and closed it carefully on the flesh shoulder, shaking it gently.

"Edward, wake up."

---------------------------------------

_Ed was falling, falling, falling. It was dark here, black as pitch, blacker than that, and the lack of focal points made him dizzy. He wasn't so much worried about the falling as he was about the landing, because landings hurt. Someone was with him in the darkness. He could hear them rustling behind him, and when he spun to see who it was, they were already behind him._

_As he whirled yet again, they pounced. One hand trapped both of his and held him pinned to a wall he hadn't even known was there, and he wasn't falling anymore. He felt the press of a body against him, curvaceous and feminine and cold as a corpse, and he gave a strangled cry. _She_ was back, and she was breathing her blood-soaked breath against his neck, whispering things to him that sounded like alchemical formulas set to the melodies of nursery rhymes._

_He felt the scrape of her fangs along his neck and he cried out again, and then he was falling again and -_

_Someone caught him. Someone warm. The darkness was not so dark, and Ed realized his eyes were closed. He opened them._

_He was standing in Mustang's bathroom, half-naked, and Mustang had him pulled flush against him. Ed did not find this unwelcome, exactly, but when he looked up into Mustang's face, he surged back._

_Mustang's eyes were not black, not dark at all, and seemed to glow with the intensity of the fiery colors in his irises. He smirked toothily down at Ed, not releasing his hold and his arms were like steel bands. Ed was bending backwards over his arms, shoving with both hands.  
_

"_Now, now, Ed. Take your medicine like a man," he was saying as one gloved hand moved from around Ed's middle and reached for the bandages around his neck. They'd partly unraveled, and Mustang grabbed the hanging trail, pulling on it. Ed choked as he was drawn back up and nearer, nearer.  
_

"_N-no, stop it, stop it, don't, _don't_," Ed heard himself babbling even as he felt Mustang's warm breath caress his cheek, and all he could think of was the pain that was coming, the deep, bleeding wound he'd be left with and then -_

_Mustang kissed him, and something inside him exploded._

_It seemed there were a thousand different feelings flooding through him, and he couldn't concentrate on any of them. Shock, fear, panic, confusion, anger, and more disturbing was the _rightness_, the desire, the incomprehensible urge to break down and cry – they overloaded his senses. He hung in that moment, both hands fisted in Mustang's uniform, frozen in the act of pushing him away.  
_

"Edward, wake up."

_Ed wondered how Mustang could talk while doing this. Well, the man was a certified playboy, maybe it came with practice.  
_

"Wake up. You're dreaming," Mustang said.

_Ed was confused. _Someone was shaking him

"Fullmetal, wake up _now_," came the command from the Colonel.

Awareness came back at that, and Ed cried out as he sat up, gasping for breath as if he'd run a marathon. His eyes shrank from the light, and he covered his face.

A hand squeezed his shoulder, and Ed would later swear that he did not shriek. He _did_ jerk away and scrabble to the other side of the bed in the blink of an eye. He glanced around the unfamiliar room frantically, feeling disoriented until his eyes settled on Mustang, who was wearing casual civvies and had a bemused expression on his face. It took all of his self-control to manage not to blush when their eyes met. He had to play it cool. There was no way the man could know what he'd just woken Ed up from, and Ed intended to keep it that way. There would be time to freak out tohimself later.

"What the hell? Where are we? What happened?" Ed demanded.

"You passed out from your meds while Alphonse was cleaning you up," Mustang explained, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "We tried to wake you up, but you were dead to the world. So, we moved you into the hotel."

"What hotel?"

"The hotel we were talking about going to before."

"No, really? I completely forgot about that," Ed sneered into the calming tone that seemed patronizing to him. "_What_ hotel? Where are we?"

"Ah. It's called the Sweet Dream Inn; it's about three blocks from the First Branch," Mustang told him.

Ed couldn't help a snort of derisive laughter. "Sweet dreams, huh? Don't think much of their gimmick."

"No, I suppose not," Mustang agreed, something akin to humor sparking in his eyes which Ed couldn't help but check – they were black. Human.

But he most certainly did _not_ let his gaze drop to Mustang's lips before he looked away. He had a feeling his postponed freak out was going to be a doozey.

Ed felt the lingering adrenaline from the dream begin to fade and he released his breath in a huffing sigh. He reached a hand up to run through his hair, which was not braided and a bit damp underneath. He scowled when his fingers snagged fast. Knots. His hair was full of knots. It'd take an hour to comb this out.

"And Al? Is he at Schezka's?"

"Yes. Hughes left her number for you if you'd like to call him."

Ed shook his head. He would wait until Mustang was out or in the shower or something, because knowing Al he'd find some way to pester the whole of this nightmare from him and _fuck_ if he was letting Mustang hear that.

"Where's my bag? I need my fucking hairbrush," Ed said instead.

Mustang gave him a considering look and seemed about to say something. Ed narrowed his eyes at him, and Mustang closed his mouth. Good. Like hell he'd talk about something as personal as his nightmares with the Colonel, especially this particular one. As if the man needed _more_ ammunition.

Mustang nodded his head at the corner of the room. "Your bag is over there, as well as some things Hughes picked up on the way. He said to remind you that we're incognito, and that means you shouldn't wear such recognizable things."

Ed stood carefully, remembering the dizziness the last time he'd done so. His head was pounding but not swimming, and he didn't feel nearly as floaty as he had before. Thank god for his quick recovery time. With a confident bounce in his step, he crossed over to the bags, rummaging through them in the search for his hairbrush. It took a while to dig through all the new things, which he decided he would look at more closely in the morning, but eventually he found the brush and retreated to the bathroom.

When he exited a few minutes later, feeling much better for his neat braid, Mustang was accepting a tray of food at the door. Ed's belly rumbled at the smell of it, and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since lunch, which seemed a million hours ago. He stared ravenously at the covered plates on the tray as Mustang carried it to the table.

"Well, don't just stand there," the man said lightly. "Dinner's not going to eat itself."

Ed didn't need any urging. He flung himself into the chair Mustang had not claimed and picked up his chopsticks. The crack they made as they separated was very satisfying. Mustang ate sedately while Ed devoured his food, barely even registering what it was.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Mustang said mildly.

"Shut up, I'm hungry."

"Can you even taste that?"

"It's better not to. Inn food is too chancy," Ed said through a mouthful of… some kind of meat. He washed it down with a gulp from the cup next to his plate, and then gagged. He glared into the cup, then at Mustang. "_Milk_? You bastard, you could have warned me."

"But then you wouldn't have drunk it," Mustang replied with a smirk.

"Asshole."

"Between your calcium deficiency and your recklessness, it's a miracle you don't break your bones more often," he mused, taking a bite of the chicken on his plate.

"I'm just that good," Ed retorted.

"Hm," Mustang said and continued eating.

Ed glared for a minute before doing the same at a more sedate pace. The silence in the room was not exactly companionable. It seemed more… awkward. Ed shoved some non-descript vegetables around on his plate. The tail end of his dream was threatening to pop back into his mind's eye at any moment. Given the choice between that and making conversation, Ed would choose the latter, but he had no idea what to talk about with the Colonel. Women? Pump him for information on the philosopher's stone? Pick a fight? They were good at that, but small talk was another kettle of fish entirely.

Fortunately, Mustang solved the problem for him.

"I overheard you and Alphonse this morning. I've been wondering all day what could be so interesting you two felt the need to debate it at seven in the morning," the Colonel said, the tilt of his head a question.

Ed blinked. This morning? It seemed farther away than even lunch. He frowned as he tried to remember what Mustang was talking about.

"Oh, that. We were talking about the transmutation of mercury into lead, and Al thought you could use the extended format Grundhauser Method's describes for a better effect…" he trailed off, a little self-consciously. "It's nothing important, really. Not even that interesting."

"That's where you're wrong, Fullmetal," Mustang said with a quirk of his lips. "It's been a while since I got to talk shop for the sake of it. Do go on."

Ed averted his eyes and told his face that if it blushed he'd beat it in himself. He was not thinking about how Mustang wasn't smirking at him, but _smiling_ instead. And honestly, it was just a smile, nothing special about it. At all. Luckily, Ed's mouth had an autopilot for alchemic jargon, and it had carried on talking without his help.

To his surprise, the conversation went easily enough after that, and Mustang, while he was admittedly out of his area of expertise, had some good points to make. Soon Ed found himself wrapped in debate with the Colonel and actually enjoying it. The small part of him not obsessed with alchemy took time to be suitably shocked.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm glad you all like this so much, and I'm especially grateful for the reviews. Keep it up! Feed my review-addiction.

Also, this chapter explains how Hughes is not dead. And for those who might be confused by the mention of the Section Eight discharge, in the American army that is the provision which allows for soldiers to be discharged for mental health reasons.

---------------------------------------

"Though dreams can be deceiving  
Like faces are to hearts  
They serve for sweet relieving  
When fantasy and reality  
Lie too far apart."

- _"Slow Like Honey"_ by Fiona Apple

**Chapter Five**

Ed lost his patience and his temper at the same time. He stood with such force that his uncomfortable wooden chair slid several feet back, and he slammed the book shut. Al, used to his brother when he got frustrated, did not jump, but merely looked up from his own text and cocked his head.

"Dammit all to fucking _hell_," Ed spat, gripping the table. "Nothing, not a goddamn thing in this one, either."

"Brother, we've only been looking for three days," Al reminded him exasperatedly. "How long have we spent searching for the stone without finding it?"

"But at least we find clues, Al. We find hints and references and allusions all over the fucking place. Not even one of these books even mentions vampires, or vampiric chimeras, or whatever the _fuck_ they are," Ed ranted, pacing like a caged tiger. He clutched at his hair.

"Maybe we need to widen the possibilities, then."

Ed whirled and pinned his brother with a venomous glare. "You better not be saying that Hughes was _right_. It's impossible."

Al heaved a non-physical sigh, which shouldn't have been possible, either. "I never said that. I'm just saying maybe we should cross-reference more than just books on chimeras. Maybe they haven't got any animal in them at all."

"Oh, right, like I can walk into the First Branch and say, 'Gee, I'd sure like some books on alchemically-sound vampires, do you know any?'" Ed said with painful sarcasm. He flung himself into his chair again. "I'd get a Section Eight discharge on the spot."

"I doubt that. At most they'd think you were pranking them," Al said wearily. "And maybe they're not supernatural, but the First Branch might not have anything on them. You have to admit, the pickings have been slim since they reconstructed after the fire. I even asked Schezka about it –"

"You did _what_?"

"– and she said she never read anything about this kind of thing before, either," Al continued, unperturbed. "Maybe there's nothing on them at all in Amestris. It's possible, isn't it? Maybe they're foreign."

His irritation at Al telling Schezka anything was derailed by the mental image of the boy he'd first seen and the woman who bit him decked out in Xingian regalia like in the imported paintings he'd seen. It was so absurd he couldn't help the chuckle that rose from his throat.

"She didn't have an accent," Ed pointed out when he done. The mirth had washed away most of the anger, but not the low burn of frustration. He scooted his chair closer to the study table so he could lean his head on it. "This sucks. So much."

Al just heaved another sigh and resumed reading.

Ed let the silence of their private study room in the National Library seep into him as he thought. His fit of pique had not helped one bit. He still felt like all his nerves were stretched too tight, and a low-grade headache made his brain feel brittle. All the information on chimeras he'd absorbed in the last few days swam in his head, and he was sick to death of the subject. He determinedly emptied his head of the arrays and principles of creating chimeras just to get some breathing room.

Except now all he had was confusion. They were no closer to understanding this situation than they'd been when it had started, and on top of that, he'd been having more disturbing dreams involving Mustang.

A hot flush stained his cheeks, and he was glad his brother couldn't see his face. Ed had decided not to mention the nightmare of a few days ago, preferring to bury it under a mountain of denial. After all, one fluke dream was not something to worry about. He'd been delirious from the medication and the stress of that day, and honestly there were more important matters at hand. When he'd fallen asleep that first night, he hadn't dreamt at all. He'd been suitably grateful, and assumed that was that.

But last night and the night before, he'd had nightmares punctuated by increasingly bizarre interludes involving Mustang and himself in… rather compromising situations.

–_and when their mouths met, Mustang's hand was on the base of Ed's spine, his other hand buried in Ed's hair. Ed felt feverish, felt electric, and his own hands reached to clutch at Mustang's back, fingers curled to scratch– _

–_Heat and panted breaths, Mustang chanted Ed's name in a low, rough voice that Ed could feel rumbling through him from how they were pressed together–_

–_He gasped as Mustang lowered lips to his throat. Ed knew they shouldn't be doing this, he knew Mustang was going to bite him. Fear crawled through his belly, telling him to run or fight, yet he ignored it, tilting his head back in offering–_

Ed simultaneously bit back a groan and resisted the urge to thump his head against the table – he was still recovering from his various head injuries. Instead, he bit his lip, hard, and tried to stem the flow of broken imagery. His face felt like it was on fire.

In a way, the dreams were as reassuring as they were deeply disturbing. Despite the fact that no one in the military was ballsy enough to attempt to explain the birds and the bees to the Elric brothers, they'd had to learn a good deal of biology and anatomy in the course of their alchemic endeavors. Ed was not unaware of how puberty was supposed to affect the teenaged male, and he'd always been a little uncomfortable with the fact he'd never had any of the much-mentioned wet dreams.

Which was not to say his dreams were, er. _Wet_. He was grateful for that, at least. There was no awkward need to phone the front desk and ask for fresh sheets. Thank god or whatever for small mercies.

Still. He'd always figured he'd never had them because he had too much else on his mind. It was not easy to be in the military, especially from the tender age of twelve, and the search for the stone consumed him to the point where even he had to admit he was pretty fucked-up and obsessed. He'd always just assumed that he was more focused on getting Al returned to humanity than on any cute girls.

And now he was having the most disconcerting dreams about men. Or rather, one man in particular.

Ed was still reeling from it. He could almost come to terms with the whole guy thing, seeing as how every girl he'd ever known had either beat him up or died or been so very threatening in her… girliness. Hell, between what happened with his mother, the terror Izumi instilled in him, Winry's penchant for the old wrench-to-the-face, and Psiren shamelessly flirting with him, it would have been enough to put him off women even without that leech-chick from the other day molesting him.

But why now? Why _Mustang_? How come he hadn't dreamt about someone like… like Russell Tringham? If he was going to have unwanted, alarming dreams about a guy he thought was a complete prick, why couldn't it have been someone remotely near his age?

He honestly didn't know how he could look his commanding officer in the eye these days. He'd taken to avoiding the man as much as possible, given that they were sharing a room. As soon as Ed woke up, he made a mad dash for a cold shower, dressed in the bathroom, and bolted out the door before the Colonel even finished his first cup of coffee. At night, Ed preferred to bury himself in his research and pretend Mustang wasn't there. Sometimes, he actually wasn't, having decided to have a drink or two in the inn's private tavern downstairs.

That was just fine by Ed. The less they were around each other, the less chance he would do something monumentally stupid, like strangle Mustang or– or–

Ed knew it was a bad sign that he couldn't even finish that stuttering thought without his head exploding from blush overload. It wasn't even as if he was actually considering the idea of doing something about this… _thing._ He wouldn't be caught dead flirting with the bastard, and he'd sooner bite off his own tongue than kiss him. He might be insane, but he wasn't a fucking moron and it wasn't like he thought of Mustang as – he pulled a face – available, or boyfriend material, or whatever the fuck you called it. He didn't even _like_ the man.

As far as Ed was concerned, these dreams were just hormonal reactions in his brain, and the fact that they featured Mustang was probably just a trick of his subconscious.

"Brother? Are you all right?" Al asked, mild concern coloring his tone as he looked over the top of his tome.

Ed realized he'd been down for a good ten minutes and sat up straight so fast the room swam. He went red again, realizing he'd been practically _mooning_ like some silly besotted schoolgirl.

"Uh, I'm fine. Just fine. Why do you ask?" he lied through his teeth. He loved his brother, he really did, but some things Al just did not need to know. Ever.

"Well, you look a little flushed. Do you have a fever?" Al asked, more concerned.

"Huh? Ah, no, no. I'm just, er, kinda warm. Stuffy in here with that radiator," Ed said, gesturing vaguely at the contraption in the corner. He stood hurriedly. "I think I'm going to get some air."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Al pressed skeptically.

"Yeah, just peachy. Be back in a few," Ed said, forcing a smile as he grabbed the coat of the back of his chair and started for the door.

Once out the door and on his way to the main library, he could breathe easier. He decided he might as well take a step outside to clear his head, and shrugged the coat on. It wasn't his coat. Or well, _technically_ it was, as it had been bought for him with money from his military account. But it was a deep charcoal, not red, and did not have the Flamel symbol on it anywhere. While he didn't exactly approve of it, it was at least warmer than his old coat and a color that he didn't dislike. He also wasn't wearing his usual outfit; instead he wore jeans and a gray turtle-neck sweater to hide the bandages still around his neck.

Oddly enough, between the civvies and staying at a hotel, he almost felt as if he was on the weirdest vacation ever. This feeling was only reinforced by the fact that he and Al were here without a military escort, which was completely different from the last time he and Al had set up base camp at the library. Not that Ross and Bloche had been unpleasant, just rather a nuisance.

Well, at least until Lab Five. As much as he hated to admit it, he really had no idea how he and Al would have gotten out of that pit if not for their intervention. The homunculi and Scar and Tucker with his chimeras… any one of those would have been hard enough to escape from on their own, especially since Al'd been completely immobilized and his own automail out of commission. Escaping from all them together like that would have been impossible, even if Scar had been the one telling them to get out. Those homunculi were still damn scary–

Something went ping in his head. He froze in his tracks as he tried to keep up with the thoughts running through his mind at lightning speed.

Something Al said before, about these chimeras. How maybe there wasn't any animal in them at all. But that would make them human, some kind of human at any rate. Human transmutation… Homunculi!

Ed felt the last lingering vestiges of the blush that had been clinging to his complexion fade as all the blood drained from his face. He hadn't seen the woman's oroboros tattoo, but she was wearing more clothes than the homunculi generally do. Besides, none of the homunculi had ever bitten him, and they certainly had the chance. That fat one had eaten most of Al, though… But that wasn't vampiric, that was just really fucked up. And Wrath hadn't been bothered by sunlight at all. But for all he knew, that woman from the other day hadn't been, either. Maybe she just liked sunglasses.

No. The homunculi were more devious than this. They wouldn't seek him out at his superior officer's house, they preferred to manipulate from the sidelines when they could. And they wouldn't gain anything by attacking him like that, with no leverage to get him to do what they wanted.

But if these creatures were _like_ homunculi, somehow. That would explain their strength and speed. It also opened a whole new pack of questions. How were they made? How deep did the differences between them and homunculi run? How human were they? Did they have souls?

"Hey, there, Ed!"

Ed jerked, startled, and turned to see Hughes coming up the steps to his right. The man held a brown paper sack and a cardboard tray with cups jammed into it. He waved with the hand holding the bag, a cheerful grin on his face.

"How goes the research?" he asked as he approached.

Ed got over his surprise and turned a full thousand-watt grin of his own on Hughes, who raised his eyebrows.

"That well?"

"We need to get back to the room. Now," Ed said, his feet already starting to tread backwards as he spoke.

Hughes chuckled bemusedly. "Okay. Lead the way, kiddo."

"Have you found anything out about those sunglasses?"

Havoc had indeed found them the other night, though they'd been bent and one lens with one lens broken and the other one cracked. Still, Hughes had taken it as evidence and began looking into the glasses' origin. With any luck, there would be some kind of connection, perhaps another lead to follow.

The man pressed his lips together and nodded. "Turns out there's only one optician in town who makes that kind of lens. It's treated specially with an ultra-violet reducing chemical."

"Who bought it?" Ed asked, perking up. Could it really be as easy as tracing the glasses back to the purchaser?

Hughes made a noise of frustration. "That's just it. No prescription in them, and the glasses themselves are off-the-rack. Owner said he sells 'em by the dozen in the summer."

Ed grimaced. Of course. Nothing was ever that easy. Stupid to get his hopes up. He decided to change the subject.

"Is that lunch?" he asked, realizing that his stomach was painfully empty. He hadn't eaten breakfast in his haste to leave this morning.

"Yeah. Roy said you've been so wrapped up in everything that you haven't been eating well," Hughes said, fixing Ed with a paternal frown. "Gracia was upset when she found out, so you'd better eat all of this food she made for you. And I picked up some hot chocolate from a shop down the street."

Ed blinked in surprise. Mustang had noticed that? A flash of paranoia went through him. What _else_ had the Colonel noticed? He kept his expression carefully guarded, because god forbid someone as gossipy as Hughes noticed him acting strange at the mention of the Colonel.

"Gracia made it? Then I know it'll be delicious," he said instead.

He knew that was the wrong thing when Hughes's eyebrows rose again, most likely in shock at Ed _not_ freaking out at the implication that Mustang gave enough of a damn about him to mention his eating habits even in passing. But Hughes didn't say anything about it, and Ed knew better than to act like he expected him to say anything.

Dammit. As if life wasn't complicated enough.

---------------------------------------

Kerwin bit his lip as he loitered at a newsstand outside the Central Library. He flipped through some comic books and avoided looking at the proprietor, who was glaring at him and muttering about street-rats and dirty fingers. It was dusk already, and the library would be closing soon, but there was still no sign of his quarry.

His master was getting impatient. He was a man used to getting what he wanted exactly when he wanted it, and three days of searching fruitlessly for the Fullmetal Alchemist had put him into a black humor. Mercy took the brunt of it, penned up at the mansion as she was, and she looked worse every day. Kerwin had always looked to her as an uneasy ally in their twisted 'family,' at least, far more than he looked to Neitherworth or his master, and he felt some pity for her plight.

Mostly, he was relieved. Better her than him. Neitherworth was bad enough, but he'd been on the receiving end of the master's punishment a time or two. By comparison, the tortures of a simple thug were child's play. Neitherworth was slime, but his violence was only physical. Kerwin could heal. The master knew how to rip you apart without lifting a hand to you, knew how to leave you cowering and sobbing with a few well-placed words. Kerwin disguised the shudder that shook him as a reaction to the cold he couldn't really feel.

The man behind the counter of the newsstand grumbled at him, "Beat it, kid. Closing time."

Kerwin sullenly threw the comic he hadn't been reading down on the counter and shuffled off, blending in with the crowd of pedestrians heading home from work. But he was careful not to stray too far, always keeping one eye on the library's entrance. He'd asked around town slyly about the Fullmetal Alchemist, pretending to be one of the many awestruck fans hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous teenager. Apparently, whenever he was in town, Fullmetal spent his free time holed up in the library.

What a nerd. Kerwin let his lips curl into a sneer. If _he_ was a famous alchemist, you could bet that he would be out getting some pretty things to follow him home. And he'd be out at all the best bars, paying for things with money he'd transmuted himself. He certainly wouldn't need to steal any more, or play lapdog to some megalomaniacal prick with a prim-and-proper stick up his ass.

The more he thought about it, the angrier Kerwin got. This Fullmetal guy got all the breaks. He knew the type – probably rich from birth, doting mommy and daddy who gave him everything he wanted, full of booksmarts and arrogance, and probably had gotten that damn automail hand just to look badass or some shit. And he wasn't half as tough as all these stories about him made him out to be. Bet that armored bodyguard Mercy talked about was the real reason he survived his missions for the military. Because if he had been that badass, Kerwin wouldn't have knocked him flat on his ass the other night.

Kerwin smirked and shoved his bangs out of his eyes in a cocky gesture. Yeah, he'd definitely have to pay this asshole back for what Neitherworth had done to punish him. His fangs _itched_.

Somewhere, a belltower struck seven o'clock. The library was closed now. He crept closer to the library entrance, eyes peeled for any hint of a familiar blond figure. People were coming out now, but his superior night-vision cut through the dimness to examine the face of each person. No, no, not him, that's a woman…

Then his eyes caught a gleam of metal out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced over. A man in a suit of armor was exiting through a side door, accompanied by a short boy in a dark coat. Kerwin zeroed in. Yes, it had to be them.

The armored man got into a car and began to drive away. Fullmetal waved, grinning, until the car went around a corner, his other arm loaded down with books. Kerwin sneered again. Then Fullmetal turned and began walking up on of the roads.

Kerwin followed, every instinct in him telling him to attack. His prey was not far away, and was alone and unsuspecting. In the hubbub of most businesses closing, he doubted anyone would notice a street-rat chasing after some bookworm – their ages were close enough that Kerwin could be the class bully trying to steal the guy's pocket money. He wanted to fly at Fullmetal, sink his teeth in, and drag him back to the mansion then and there.

Except… his master had said not to. Said they had to be careful now, that he would set a trap. Kerwin snorted impatiently, but he did not dare defy the man. Especially when he knew the only reason he hadn't stayed in the pit was because Mercy had fouled it up the first time. So, he clamped down on his impatience and crept along a dozen or so yards behind Fullmetal.

He did not have to follow him far, much to his satisfaction. He hurried to report to his master.

---------------------------------------

"One more report, sir," Hawkeye said, tapping the thin sheaf of paperwork against the table once before she handed them to Roy, who groaned.

"You said that three reports ago," he whined, massaging his right hand as if it had cramps. It didn't, but he wasn't going to let her know that.

"Sir, with all due respect, shut up and finish your paperwork," she replied, her expression somewhere between satisfied and irritated. "Just because you have not been in the office does not mean you can shirk your responsibilities."

"Oh? Well, perhaps when I have carpal tunnel you'll allow me some leeway," Roy said in a pitiful tone, taking the report.

"Don't count on it, sir," Hawkeye said, completely deadpan. Roy narrowed his eyes at her, knowing she was teasing. Hoping she was teasing. She probably wasn't, actually.

Sighing melodramatically, Roy skimmed the report from on of the operatives in the north. Just the same old gripes with the supply line, but also some reduction of the tension between Amestris and Drachma. Well, that was good news. There hadn't been any skirmishes in the last few years, and hopefully it would stay that way.

The part of his brain not falling into a stupor over the report took time to appreciate the surrealism of being alone with Hawkeye in a hotel room. Hughes's advice to him was to keep off base, and so the past few days had been spent with just him and Hawkeye doing paperwork. It was much harder to procrastinate when his slavedriver was sitting across from him and giving him stern glances all day long. At least she hadn't shot at him yet, though perhaps that was simply a courtesy to Edward – there weren't that many hotels this close to the library, and she didn't want to get them kicked out. Still, he'd probably gotten more work done in the last three days than he had in the whole month before.

It would have made him happier to know that had Hawkeye not been so smug about it all. Outwardly she gave no real sign, but he _knew_ her. That little half-smile that played around her lips when she thought he wasn't looking might as well have been three hours of Fullmetal gloating for the entire base to hear.

He finished the report at last and signed the appropriate places to mark it as such. He handed the paper back to Hawkeye, who looked it over with all the strictness of a school marm. Roy gritted his teeth.

"Deducting points for grammar, now?" he muttered sarcastically.

"Hm," she replied, and filed the papers away in the briefcase open on the table. "That will be all for today, sir."

"Halleluiah," Roy said, and leaned backwards in his chair to stretch the knots and kinks out of his shoulders. He was rewarded with several cracks and a twinge in his spine. He winced. He definitely did not like this whole 'getting older' thing.

Hawkeye was packing up, and he made a half-hearted attempt to help. She swatted his hands away.

"How's Edward doing?" she asked.

Roy shrugged and chuckled a little. "Obsessive as ever. Spends all his time at the library until it closes, and when he's here his nose is buried in books until he passes out on them. I think the only reason he showers in the morning is to get the inkstains off his face."

"Then you two haven't been fighting, I take it?" she asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

Roy shook his head, his expression just as bemused as hers. "He's barely said three words to me since the first night. I don't know if I should be worried or grateful."

"Probably grateful. You wouldn't want any complaints from the neighbors."

"There is that," he agreed.

"Though you might want to help with the research," she added, shooting him a glance like he'd been caught shirking his duties.

He stared blankly at her as she stood.

"Help research?" he repeated.

"Yes. With two State Alchemists on the job as well as Alphonse, the pace will pick up a bit."

"I'm not so sure that's wise," he said, picturing all too clearly Edward's probable reaction to an offer of help. "Debating theory is one thing, but working with Fullmetal on one of his projects would probably end up with one of us in the hospital."

"I'm sorry, sir. I assumed you want to get this situation resolved expediently and efficiently."

He looked at her sharply, hearing the veiled accusation underneath the formality. Hawkeye returned his stare levelly. Finally, he just snorted.

"You just want me back at the office because you don't trust Havoc to make sure those other idiots are doing their jobs."

Her lips twitched. "Well, perhaps that's part of it."

Roy chuckled at her and seriously considered. Edward got touchy about some things, like his height, his age, and people who assumed that because he looked young meant that he was incompetent. He was also touchy about Roy in general, which meant that offering his help in this was tantamount to launching a lit bottle rocket in a dynamite warehouse. At the same time, Hawkeye had a point. A good point. Sitting on the sidelines was not going to help anyone get on with their lives.

"I'll ask him when he gets back from the library, but I make no promises," he said at last.

She saluted crisply, boot heels clicking together. Roy returned it with not half as much starch.

"You do that, sir. Good evening," she said.

"Take it easy," he replied, knowing the informality would grate on her nerves.

When she had gone, he looked at the clock. This hotel business had thrown him off his usual daily schedule so far that he'd forgotten to shower this morning. His aching back would certainly not object to the steam treatment. He should have time for one before Edward returned.

The best thing about hotels, though, was that you never ran out of hot water. Once he stepped into the steaming stream of water, he felt himself become boneless and relaxed. He began washing leisurely, wondering if he shouldn't take advantage of Fullmetal's absence to indulge himself a little. Roy wasn't the most oversexed individual he knew, but it'd been over a week at this point.

Sulkily, he decided against it. It would be his kind of luck to just be getting somewhere when Edward, nose in book and oblivious to the sound of running water, would walk in on him. Of course, in that situation, Edward probably wouldn't even notice. The thought was so ridiculous, so like Fullmetal, Roy found himself snickering as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. And if he did notice…

The smile dropped from Roy's face quickly as he abruptly cut off the thought he hadn't even really had time to think. The only thing that would happen in that situation would be Edward really never speaking to him again. It would just be too awkward. Not that things weren't awkward and silent between them _now_.

Which was bothering him more than it really should. One would think he'd be glad of the reprieve, even if it meant that he didn't get to interject as many needling comments as he liked. Winding Fullmetal up had been one of his favorite hobbies for the past few years, especially now that Edward was starting to give as good as he got. What surprised him was how they'd actually held a civil and intelligent conversation that first night, with no flailing or explosions or death threats. Roy had considered it a breakthrough.

So it was really quite odd that Edward had clammed up. Or perhaps it wasn't. He'd been very eager to get busy researching, and Roy well knew how deeply Edward threw himself into his work. It could be he was just as surprised by how well they'd gotten along, and decided that it was some kind of plot against him. Really, Roy knew he'd given Fullmetal some reason to be suspicious, but _that_ would be sheer paranoia.

Or maybe it had to do with the fact that Edward had been having rather loud nightmares for the past few nights and was embarrassed about it. That would explain his abrupt departures in the morning and the way he'd dive headfirst into the _grimoire du jour_ as soon as he'd eaten something upon his return. Dodging questions was something Fullmetal was getting increasingly good at, and Roy only had himself to thank for that.

Roy wasn't exactly sure how to approach him about that. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about whatever it was that made him wake Roy with his strangled groans and muttered "no"s, and Roy wasn't sure he wanted to play shoulder-to-cry-on for Fullmetal. He never was very good at comforting others, and Edward didn't strike him as the sort that would accept comfort anyway, much less comfort from Roy. But the only alternative was to ask Al to talk to him about it, or Hughes, and that would only make him trust him even less than he did already.

Roy turned off the tap with a heavy sigh and got out, toweling off briskly. He decided that if the nightmares didn't ease up in the next couple of days, he'd ask about them. In a gruff, man-to-man way.

He eyed his pile of clothes with some distaste. He hated putting used garments on after a shower. It seemed to defeat the purpose. And he'd forgotten his bag out in the room. Well, there was no help for it. He wrapped the small hotel towel around his waist and grimaced at how his thigh was revealed by a gap. Hotel towels always seemed to be made several sizes too small for an adult to feel comfortable strutting around in one. He'd never complained about them before, mostly because when he was sharing a hotel room with someone, the towels came off rather quickly… if they were worn at all. However, in this situation, that fact made it seem all the more unsuitable.

After a quick peek around the room to make sure Edward had not returned yet, he darted out. Quickly, he grabbed his bag, set it on the bed, and dug around for an outfit. He'd only managed to locate boxers and a pair of pants when he heard the key turn in the lock and the door opened.

"Hey, bastard, I'm ba–" Edward's greeting cut off abruptly.

Despite years of experience being in varying states of nudity in hotels, Roy froze. By an act of sheer will, he looked over his shoulder with what seemed like agonizing slowness to see Edward standing in the doorway. The expression on his face was so elaborate Roy didn't even try to interpret it, just took in the eyes as big as plates, the gaping mouth, and the rapidly deepening flush. Sure signs that the blond was about to explode in rage.

Actually, it was kind of amusing. Or, it would be if he'd been fully-clothed and behind his desk in his office. Somehow, it was hard to dredge up a superior smirk when he had been caught completely off-guard, nearly as bare as the day he was born, and dripping on the carpet. Maybe it would be funny in hindsight. Provided he lived long enough to view it in that light. He wondered absurdly what life would be like once he was transmuted into a paperweight.

The moment lingered a few seconds too long, like some kind of hideous car accident. Roy shifted self-consciously, something he hadn't done in years, and cleared his throat to speak.

"Close the damn door, Edward," he said. Good. That was a good start. But to his horror, his mouth went on the auto-snark defensive and he found himself adding, "It's bad enough _you're_ getting a free show without the rest of the hotel getting in on the action."

Edward emitted a very strange noise and slammed the door. With him on the hallway side of it.

Meanwhile, Roy was busy trying to swallow his own tongue. What the _hell_? What the fuck was _wrong_ with him? He might've been able to get away with that kind of comment if it was Hughes, or even Havoc. Hell, _Hawkeye_ would have taken it better, though he'd have to put up with her pointedly unimpressed look for days afterward. What had possessed him to say _that_ to Fullmetal?

Temporary insanity. That was the only defense he could think up, and he'd stick to his guns all through the sexual harassment suit Edward was sure to slap on him.

"Shit," he muttered with feeling as he dressed in a flurry, pulling on his clothes almost violently. He buttoned his shirt on the way to the door, which he yanked open to find Edward standing with his back to the room. He was hunched forward over the books he had been carrying.

"It's all right. I'm decent. You can come in now," Roy said in a carefully neutral tone.

Fullmetal turned, his head down and his face obscured by his bangs. Roy stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him. He crossed to his bed and dropped his books unceremoniously on it before he sat down. Following him into the room, Roy watched him warily and waited for the explosion.

"S-sorry," Fullmetal said instead, tone low and miserable.

It was at this point that Roy realized Edward might not be angry but just as embarrassed as he was. After all, it wasn't every day one got an eyeful of their superior officer. He sank down into a chair at the table, cradling his forehead with one hand.

"No need, Fullmetal," he said roughly. "In fact, I am the one that should be apologizing. My comment was inappropriate. And personally, I would rather it had never happened in the first place, but I'll settle for never speaking of it again."

"Agreed," came the immediate relieved reply.

The silence stretched awkwardly. Roy decided to busy himself by picking up the phone to order room service, and Edward shucked his coat and organized his books. All told, though, they hadn't put off conversation that long, and judging from the way the blond wasn't looking at him at all, Edward was still as uncomfortable as Roy.

He had to create some kind of distraction.

"So, how was research today?"

"Good. It was really… er, good."

Edward darted a glance at him for the first time since reentering the room, as if to make certain that Roy was, in fact, clothed. It seemed to reassure him, as his voice was firmer when he continued.

"We thought of a new theory. How these things can be something besides chimera, but still definitely alchemical in origin."

"Oh? What's that?"

Edward looked nervous. "Er. It's going to sound ridiculous. I never told you about it before, either, when it happened back in Lab Five, but that was because Hughes said not to talk about it and –"

Roy felt his eyebrows climb towards his hairline. Hughes had actually been _keeping_ information from him? Edward glanced at him again and must've read something his expression because he hastened to keep babbling.

"It's dangerous, see, to know because we aren't sure how far they go into the military, and –"

"Wait, wait. Slow down, back up. What's too dangerous? What have these things got to do with the military?"

"No, no. _They_ don't have anything to do with the military. At least, I don't think so. It's the other things –"

"What other things?" Roy asked, his tone darkening.

Ed paused and finally looked at him squarely. He took a breath. "The homunculi."

Roy stared. Then he gave a snort of laughter. And then another. And then he couldn't stop, clutching at his stomach. And he'd thought that having Hawkeye in a hotel room was surreal. God. She had _nothing_ on Edward Elric.

---------------------------------------

Ed was getting frustrated. Strike that. He _was_ frustrated. He'd barely been able to shout the Colonel out of his giggle fit, and when he had explained the situation with the homunculi the man had become serious again. But that didn't necessarily mean he was being useful. They sat across from each other at the table over the remnants of their dinner, Mustang eyeing him and Ed avoiding those eyes.

"So, you've developed a hypothesis that whatever attacked you three days ago is some kind of mutant homunculus," Mustang drawled slowly, running a hand through his hair.

Ed was still having a hard time looking at him. In the hour or so it'd taken to explain everything satisfactorily, Mustang's hair had dried and he didn't appear quite so much to have waltzed out of Ed's subconscious for torment's sake. It was one thing to have weird dreams about the man, and it was quite another to be confronted with a hardly-clothed, dripping, altogether _real_ version. He'd been entranced by the man's back, the expanse of pale skin stretched over firm-looking muscles, bony peaks of shoulder-blades and knots of vertebrae. And that surprised, over-the-shoulder glance with his wet, disheveled bangs hanging just so over those coal-black eyes…

Yeah. Speaking of _frustration_. Not to mention the fact that it was undeniably weird to be thinking these kind of things while awake. Ed shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes," Ed replied, irritated. "I've said that at least three times by now."

"All right, what proof do you have?"

"Well, er. Personal experience and what my gut instincts are telling me," Ed said. He resisted the urge to flinch at the way Mustang's eyes bored into him, and he had to admit that his reasoning didn't have any solid proof. That rankled with the scientist in him, too, but he was bound and determined to _get_ proof. That was the whole freaking point of a hypothesis.

Mustang snorted and pushed his dinner plate away. His face was completely unreadable. He'd taken the news of the homunculi in Lab Five quietly, but his lips had pressed firmly together and his eyes had narrowed. Ed had a feeling that Hughes would be cross-examined and most likely bitched out to within an inch of his life for not telling Mustang. Surely the Colonel understood, though, that this was very serious business. Even Hughes had been leery of investigating too deeply, though he'd told Ed he hadn't found anything conclusive when he had looked into it. Whoever put the homunculi there or allowed them access to the lab was too good at covering their tracks, which meant that the corruption ran deep in the higher ranks.

Something Mustang probably had realized as well, judging from the way he'd looked like he'd swallowed some of Winry's cooking.

"So, what now, Fullmetal? Have you any ideas on how to go about researching this?"

Ed sighed heavily. "We're looking into all the remaining texts on human transmutation that aren't banned. If the First Branch hadn't burned down, we probably could have gotten our hands on the banned things as well, but…"

He trailed off with a shrug. Mustang looked at him consideringly for a long moment and Ed kept his vision trained on a point just to the left of Mustang's head to give the illusion of staring back. Mustang seemed to come to a decision.

"I… have some texts. At my home," he said at last. His tone was hesitant, as if he was offering something even more forbidden than contraband alchemy.

It took a beat for Ed to realize that he _was_ offering more than that. He was letting Ed get a glimpse of something deeply personal, something definitely not fitting with the image of a polished rising officer. Ed's eyes widened and he snapped his eyes to fully take in Mustang for the first time all evening. The man met his gaze with a flat stare that warned off any questions Ed might ask, which only confirmed it.

At some point, Roy Mustang had been researching human transmutation.

The revelation made Ed's jaw drop. When? Why? _Who_? And he almost laughed mirthlessly at how predictable alchemists were, how they all turned to the most profane of alchemic arts when they got desperate.

Another thought occurred to him and his jaw snapped shut with a click. He couldn't let this lie, he had to ask.

"Just to make sure, Colonel. Not to pry. But tell me you didn't have anything to do with Lab Five," he ground out, voice brittle.

Mustang's grim expression didn't change and he shook his head slowly. "No. Nothing to do with that. It was… a personal matter."

Ed let out a breath, relieved. But there was still one more question.

"You never –"

"No." Mustang's tone was harsh and repressive. "I never."

Ed nodded and dropped his eyes, backing off. He sank back into his own chair. Perhaps it'd been something of a stupid question. Mustang certainly didn't bear any of the scars Ed or Al or Izumi did. And he'd never seen the Gate. Besides, Ed knew _he_ certainly didn't like discussing what he'd done, and even he and Al only referred to their revival attempt obliquely when they could. Subjects like that were too full of grief and the madness that drove people to such extremes, and it was better to leave them buried.

He cleared his throat. "So. These books. Where are they?"

"In my home, as I said. They're hidden. Maes… He would kill me if he knew I still had them," Mustang said, and his eyes unfocused briefly, lost in his thoughts. He visibly shook himself. "I don't know if they'll have anything useful in them, but I'll leave it to you to check. I'll have Hawkeye take me there tomorrow and pick them up."

"Why?" Ed felt the question slip from his lips before he could stop it.

"Didn't you just say you needed contraband texts?" Mustang snapped.

"Yes, and… and thanks. For that. But. I meant, why did you keep them?" Ed clarified, and he looked up with a mix of fear and defiance. He didn't know what possessed him to ask, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Except he _did_ want to know, _needed_ to know why someone like Mustang, so assured of himself and in control of the world around him, would cling to something so base and wrong as this.

Mustang stared at him, and suddenly his expression wasn't closed off at all because Ed was looking him directly in the eye. He was startled by the tumult of emotions there. Regret, pain, anguish, and shame swirled in those black eyes, and Ed was abruptly sorry he'd asked. And he had the ludicrous impulse to say something stupid like "shhh," as if he was comforting a small child. Finally, Mustang looked away. Ed released a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.

He was so certain the Colonel wasn't going to answer his question that he almost jerked when the man spoke at last.

"I kept them as a reminder that… I am fallible. And that it is a very short way to fall."

He met Ed's eyes again, and Ed didn't even recognize the strong emotion he saw there. He had a million things he would like to say, that he was glad Mustang hadn't gone through with it, that Mustang was stupid for considering it in the first place, that he understood why… All of it. He understood it.

A part of him was amazed by that, because for so long he had never understood anything about Mustang. This new comprehension was like relief, like water in the desert or a fire after standing in the cold. But he couldn't say any of that, because Mustang wouldn't take any comment well at this point, and Ed wasn't sure he could even express any of this adequately.

Thus he remained silent as they sat trapped in each other's gazes. Something had been building in the air during this discussion, something thick and incomprehensible to Ed. His heart was suddenly beating faster and his breath caught in his throat. It seemed like something was on the verge of happening, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out what that was. Yet he couldn't look away.

Mustang huffed a sudden sigh, and stood, breaking the moment. Ed felt oddly disappointed, even bereft, as watched as the man grabbed his wallet and stuffed it in the back pocket of his black slacks. He was at the door before Ed found his voice.

"Where are you going?"

Mustang didn't even turn around. "Out."

The door did not slam behind him, leaving Ed more confused then ever as he pondered this new facet of Roy Mustang.

---------------------------------------

Some hours later, Ed woke from a bleary, half-formed nightmare to darkness and a loud _thunk_ on the door. He scrubbed his eyes and stitched on the electric lamp on the nightstand between the two beds. Had that bastard forgotten his key? Or was he too drunk to operate the door?

He staggered to the door, shrugging the loose collar of his baggy sleeping shirt back over his shoulder as he yawned.

When he opened the door, though, no one was there. He glared at the empty hall.

"Stupid brats playing pranks at this hour," he muttered, and turned to go back inside.

The flash of metal was what caught his eye. He looked towards it automatically and what he saw woke him up completely with a cold flood of alarm.

There was a large, mean-looking knife jammed into the wood of the door. Pinned under it was a photograph on oddly thick paper, back facing the hallway. There was a message there, written in elegantly scrawling handwriting.

_If you wish to retrieve something valuable_, it read, _come alone to the address below at nine p.m. sharp tomorrow night. Regards._

With a shaking hand, he reached up and grabbed the handle of the knife, yanking it out. The picture fluttered to the floor, this time facing the right way around. Ed picked it up, and when his eyes focused on what it displayed, his hand shook so bad he had to clench his fingers into a fist.

It was a close-up of Mustang from the shoulders up. His eyes closed in obvious unconsciousness, and there was a rag tied around his mouth as a gag. The loll of his head clearly showed his pale neck and the large, red-black bite mark with trails of blood spilling down past the collar of his shirt.

Ed didn't even bother slamming the door when he ran to the phone to call Hughes.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** This is the last chapter that was beta'd by Danielle Anderson. Thanks a bunch, and good luck with your projects! XD

"Need to see, need to say, need to be  
Something beautiful  
Can't get today out of my mind  
Need to say, need to call, need to love  
Someone beautiful  
A day like today has stained my eyes"

- "_A Day Like Today_" by Tom McRae

**Chapter Six**

Roy entered the private tavern of the hotel with the firm intention of getting plastered off his rocker. He flung himself down on a barstool and ordered a bourbon-make-that-a-double. He downed it as soon as the tumbler was between his fingers. He immediately ordered a second, and glared down the bartender's speculative look. He didn't need anyone judging him right now.

This night had been far too strange to deal with sober.

He didn't know what part of the evening had been more disturbing. His mind was swimming with all the information Edward had told him, the information that Hughes had been keeping from him. Monsters dredged up from the nightmares of alchemists actually infiltrating the military, plotting the creation of a philosopher's stone for whatever purpose, and targeting Edward specifically… Why had Maes concealed it? Wasn't this an extreme example of the exact thing they were trying to stop?

And if that weren't bad enough, he'd revealed his darkest secret, his deepest shame, to Edward Elric. He smirked humorlessly. Somehow, he thought that when Hawkeye had suggested he 'help with the research,' she hadn't meant handing over his own forbidden handbooks on human transmutation. And Maes was going to kill him when he found out, because the man _always_ found out. Roy's eyes narrowed. He'd counter Maes's objections with accusations. Granted, Hughes usually had a good reason to withhold information on the rare occasions he did. But something this large, it was too dangerous not to know. Particularly since it seemed that these homunculi were gunning for Edward, and he'd be damned if he let them get their inhuman hands on the boy again.

That's right. The _boy_. A child despite that horrible look of compassionate understanding in his eyes when Roy'd let his mask slip as he spoke of the forbidden text books and his reasons for keeping them around. He had to remember that Fullmetal was over a decade his junior. He had to hold on to that thought, because when those wide, amber eyes had been fixed on him like that, in that moment of vulnerability, he'd had the most insane urge to lean over the table, take Edward's face in his hands, and kiss him.

He knocked back his second drink, feeling the fire in his mouth and throat and stomach, concentrating on the sensation. Fire was cleansing, purifying. And God above, did he feel dirty.

That was the crux of it, the reason he'd fled the room so abruptly. All the other things Edwa- Fullmetal had said upset him, but he could deal with that. However, they faded into the background at the realization that Roy had been carefully ignoring, denying, and suppressing a desire for his _teenaged subordinate._ He was horrified at himself. What kind of a man was he? He may be a bit of a playboy, but he did not consider himself _that_ kind of a pervert. He'd always been scrupulous in his liaisons – or, at least, he'd never slept with anyone under the age of consent.

…Well, had never _knowingly_ done so. There was that red-headed waitress, but she _had_ lied to him. It wasn't as if one could demand a birth certificate on a first date. How was he to know she was seventeen? And he'd only been twenty years old at the time, and definitely not her commanding officer. The situation at hand did not even compare to that little fumble of his morals.

Roy grimaced, running a hand through his hair, and tried to calm down. It was all right, he hadn't actually done anything. If he had, he knew he would be in little bits pasted all over the walls of the hotel room by now.

The hotel room where he'd been for three long days, three longer nights with Edward in the next bed over, tossing and _moaning_, and no one should sound like _that_ when they were having nightmares. Roy's grip on his empty tumbler tightened until his knuckles were white. He'd done his best to block the noises out, burying his head in the thick pillows, but they'd still penetrated. Now that he could no longer deny this… attraction, he could admit that one of the reasons he hadn't broached the subject to Fullmetal was fear that perhaps the boy wasn't having nightmares but another kind of dream entirely.

Fuck. He didn't even know how he'd react to that, provided the intensely private Fullmetal would admit to something so personal and embarrassing. Besides, he was so narrowly focused on restoring Alphonse, Roy doubted that Fullmetal had even considered it. Roy had never thought of him as a sexual being, instead picturing him to be a walking obsession with a loud mouth and an inferiority complex.

Only that wasn't quite true, because he'd seen Edward's human side, his emotional and vulnerable side, on too many occasions to discount him like that. Not that he ever did. He knew Edward was so sharply intelligent he cut himself when he wasn't careful, was gruffly kind and caring, was easily hurt by those near to him, was insecure and lost and still valiantly struggling to give his brother some measure of normalcy. He was self-centered, yet not selfish, always giving his all in order to save whomever he could while executing the missions Roy assigned him. In spite of everything he'd been through, he had a skewed but unshakeable honor and a faith in humanity that Roy had never had even before Ishbal. Roy had always admired that honor, had always sought to help him keep that faith – rather hypocritically, since he was the one who put Edward in situations that had the possibility of shattering it.

He was the strongest, most stubborn, most brilliant, and most infuriating person Roy knew. The fact that he was now dangerously attractive, with his lean, toned physique and rich blond hair, expressive eyes like molten gold and full lips last seen parted in a look of helpless, open empathy. Some how Roy's brain couldn't reconcile this image of Edward with the wreck of an eleven-year-old amputee that had been his first impression and it bothered him. He'd known Edward for five years now, since he was that small figure drowning in white linen and red bandages. Roy should think of him as a… a son, or a little brother or _anything_ but a potential bedmate.

He was a hypocrite. How could he claim to be protecting the boy when _he_ was the one endangering him? It had been bad enough in every other situation, but now there was _this_. A desire to run his hands through Edward's hair, to caress down mismatched arms and feel the contrast there, to taste those lips that were most likely woefully inexperienced yet the idea was still unbearably appealing. He wondered what Edward would sound like, if he would gasp and moan and writhe–

A hard twist of self-disgust knotted his insides, making him scowl. This threw everything that had happened recently into a whole different light. How long had he been harboring these feelings, anyway? What had been his true motivation for inviting Fullmetal to his home that night? Or when he'd caught him on the stairs, felt the heft and warmth of the boy's body? Or, God, even tonight when he'd made that lewd, almost flirtatious comment?

Fuck. It wasn't as if he could transfer Fullmetal to another command, not without compromising everything they both had been working toward for the last four years. Edward's search for the stone would be halted and he'd be put on trial, Alphonse taken into "custody" to be experimented on or simply dispatched, and Roy himself would be under an investigation even Hughes couldn't interfere with.

No matter what angle he looked at it from, he saw no way out of this unpleasant corner he'd found himself backed into. He had no choice but to live with it, and control himself. He would have overcome this, and _no one_ would know. Ever.

He looked up miserably, noting that the bartender was giving him curious, gauging glances. Any minute now, he was probably going to come up and perform the time-honored tradition of giving Roy one on the house and asking for his woes. Which Roy simply did not want to discuss, didn't even want to think about.

"Give me another of the same and a beer," Roy said, fixing the man with an imperious, don't-ask glare.

The bartender just shook his head and complied, adding a pithy, "You take it easy tonight, man."

Roy resisted a sneer as he paid and then picked up his drinks. It was time to migrate to one of the tables away from the bar, safe from unwanted questions and judgment.

No sooner had he stood and turned than he'd run into a tall, well-dressed man who'd been walking up to the bar. Roy cursed as his shot spilled all over his hand and his tankard sloshed threateningly. The man stumbled and used his silver-handled cane to stabilize himself. When he straightened, Roy noted he was wearing dark, thick sunglasses on his aristocratic face, and he had a sudden rush of adrenaline and took a closer look.

No, they weren't the same kind as the woman before had dropped in his apartment, but that meant absolutely nothing. Roy suddenly wished he hadn't drunk so much so quickly – his head was already beginning to swim a bit, and if it came to a fight–shit his gloves were in his coat pocket upstairs, how could he be so forgetful–

"Ah, terribly sorry," the man said, facing directly forward, not looking at Roy standing on his left. He sounded properly apologetic, so his behavior confused Roy for a moment until he took in the way the man was holding his cane now – slightly out and away, not meant for support or ostentatious decoration. It was a guide-stick. Roy realized the man was blind, and relaxed.

"No, no," he said hurriedly in his relief. "My fault, should have watched where I was going."

He almost winced, wondering if that was poor wording, but the man turned his head toward the sound of his voice and gave him a close-lipped smile.

"Not to worry," he said, and held up a gloved hand that was soaked in bourbon. "Though I believe I spilled your drink."

"Ah, it was only a drink," Roy said, forcing a smile even though the man wouldn't see it. "Easily replaced."

"That it is. Are we near the bar?" the man asked. "Because you simply must allow me to replace it for you."

"Yes, we are, but you really don't have to," Roy replied, now embarrassed on top of being miserable. He'd nearly run down a blind man, and now the guy was trying to make it up to him.

"I insist," the man said, reaching his cane out to search for the bar. Finding it, he stepped up. "Barkeep! Be so kind as to bring this gentleman another…"

Roy hesitated, wondering whether he should accept, but at this point it would be pure bad manners to do so. "Bourbon, a double."

"Oh, good man. Bourbon is very salt of the earth," the man said approvingly. To the bartender, he added, "And a glass of brandy, please."

Roy stared. Salt of the earth? Well, the guy was wearing a certifiable evening suit with a casual air, not in the least worried about the stain on his expensive linen gloves, and he had just ordered brandy. Even the easy hauteur in his speech pattern screamed upper-crust. Not surprising, considering that this inn was expensive and designed for rich business and tourist clientele. It just wasn't often Roy heard himself described as low-class in such polite terms.

"Here are your drinks, sirs," the bartender said, placing them down on the counter.

"Thank you. Put it on my tab, name of Toby Bramblemoor," the blind man said with another smile. He hesitantly felt around from the glasses, hefting his brandy glass cautiously.

"Thank you," Roy said, slipping into his smoothest tones. Low-class, indeed. "You're very kind."

"No trouble at all," Toby said. He tilted his head and added lightly, "Though, I may have had an ulterior motive."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"I have had the most boring day, trapped in business meetings all day. I'm certain this drink would taste much better if I had some conversation to go with it," he said, smiling again, just a hint of white teeth between his lips. Something in his tone cut through the thickening haze of alcohol, and Roy's ears perked up.

He'd just been propositioned. Oh, it was very subtle and polite, and if he wasn't on that wavelength he would have missed it. But still, one didn't play the game as much as he did without picking up a sense about this kind of thing. He examined the man more closely, and decided that he was quite attractive. High cheekbones, aquiline nose, and close-cut brown hair neatly styled back, just a hint of distinguishing gray of the temples.

Roy smirked. Perfect. He'd lay money down that half the reason he'd taken leave of his senses back in the hotel room was just his sexual frustration building up. This was the perfect way to rid himself of it.

…And the perfect excuse to keep him from thinking about the other half of the reason.

"But of course," he replied in the same tone. He switched his empty tumbler for the full one, and then offered his elbow to the man. "Be so good as to take my arm, and I'll find us a table."

Toby tucked his cane under one arm and accepted the offer. What small part of Roy which wasn't busy navigating or anticipating the outcome of the drinks noted that the hand on his arm was cold even through the cloth of glove and sleeve.

---------------------------------------

The rest of the night passed in something of a pleasant blur, somehow still tinged with an edge of desperation. He couldn't remember why, precisely, but that was the whole point, wasn't it? When the time came for them to get up and leave, Roy was so inebriated that he had had to lean on Toby, though the other man was tipsy as well. How they made it into the hall, Roy would never really know.

Roy was having a giggle fit. "This can't be good. The blind-drunk leadin' the blind."

"S' quite all right," Toby slurred good-naturedly. "'M posssitive you know the path to your room."

"Hmm? My room?" Roy asked, blinking owlishly up at the taller man's face. He frowned. "Um. We can't go there."

"Oh? Why ever not, m' dear?"

Roy knew there was a reason. He had a feeling he didn't really want to remember at the moment. It was inevitable, though, because his companion needed a reason.

"Someone's there," Roy said at last. He managed to inject his voice with some irritation. "No privacy, none at all."

"Oh? Who is this someone?" Toby asked.

"Someone who wouldn't like it if I showed up like this with you," Roy replied lightly, and chuckled helplessly at the thought of Edward's shocked and outraged face if he could see Roy right now. "He wouldn't like it at _all_."

"Ah?" Toby said in mild interest. "Another… companion of yours? Prone to jealousy?"

Roy tried to hide his flinch and rather suspected he failed. "What? No, no. You've gottit wrong. He's a… coworker of mine, that's all."

"Really," Toby said in a knowing tone. "You know, you needn't lie, m'dear. I don't mind if this is an ilicicit… and ilect… a forbidden encounter."

"No, you misunderstand. He's nothing like that to me." Roy realized he was only digging the hole deeper. Luckily the other man just snickered at him and let the matter drop.

"Right, right. Well, we can't have you disgraced professionally, can we?" the other man purred. "In that case, my room is nearby. Er, I think. Where are we?"

Roy, relieved, squinted at the nearest door, which proved a bit more difficult than usual. The damned thing kept sliding along the wall. Eventually, he made out the numbers.

"Room One-oh-eight," he crowed triumphantly.

"Really?" Toby laughed giddily. "What incredible luck, s'my room!"

They both crumbled in a fit of giggles, and eventually Toby fumbled keys from the pocket of his increasingly more, and eventually the aristocrat drew keys from the pocket of his increasingly disheveled evening suit. Roy helped guide his hand to lock, and as soon as they were inside, Roy found lips on his.

It took him a few moments of panting in the dark notice there was something subtly wrong with the state of affairs. It was now how Toby was letting him back them up to the bed in the dark. It wasn't the way the man pawed at his shirt, breaking the top two buttons. It didn't strike him until he was on top of the man on the bed, still kissing him, and when it did, he pulled back with a start.

Toby's lips were cool, startlingly so, as were his mouth and tongue. It wasn't the sort of cold that came from drinking chilled drinks – that had a waiting warmth below the surface. This was a solid, through-and-through cold that made the kiss feel slimy, clammy, a tongue like a fat slug and lips turned rubbery as those of a corpse. And his teeth seemed… long, _sharp –_

That last thought finally triggered alarm bells. Roy felt his stomach clench nauseating strength and speed around all the booze swimming in it, and he stared down at the man below him.

"My dear, whatever is the matter?" Toby asked, but he didn't sound concerned – or for that matter, drunk – in the least. No, he was _grinning_ for the first time all evening, and in the darkness his cruel, pointed canines gleamed, catlike and menacing.

Roy didn't even have time to voice his shock before something very hard hit him in the back of the head and there was darkness.

---------------------------------------

"Wait, it's a picture?" Hughes demanded over the phone. His voice was tight. "When did Roy leave?"

Ed wracked his brains. It seemed a very long time ago to remember. "Er, around nine-thirty or so. I think."

"How could they have gotten a picture developed in such a short – aha!" Hughes crowed with sudden ferocity. "That's it!"

"That's what?" Ed snapped.

"No time to explain, ask me when I get there. So his gloves are in the room? As well as his coat?" Hughes asked.

Ed paced furiously about the hotel room at the maximum radius the phone cord allowed. "Yes, both are still here. I think he went to the bar downstairs."

"Shit," Hughes breathed, so softly Ed knew he wasn't supposed to hear. He continued in a louder voice, "Lock the door and stay where you are, Ed. Don't answer it for anyone. I'm going to muster the posse. Stay alert. Stay safe."

"Right," Ed said, but he was talking to dead air. He slammed the phone down with a vengeance, and then stomped over to the still-gaping door. He slammed that too, bolted it, and pulled the security chain through. He leaned against it, panting.

His heart was racing. Every muscle in his body was tense as a bowstring, and he was just waiting for the right moment to let loose the volley. But he didn't have a target, not yet. His hands clenched and he wished the 'posse' was here already. Hughes would know what to do.

Ed was relieved by that thought, because he really didn't have a clue what next.

This had come out of left field. Sure, he'd known that it was possible for the… vampires to find them. But he hadn't thought that Mustang would be targeted. _No one_ targeted Mustang, the man was freaking untouchable. He was a war hero, a fast-rising star of the military, and dangerous to meddle with. He should have been more than able to take care of himself, he was supposed to be protecting _Ed_ -

His heart rose into his throat, hands clenched tighter, and he could feel his nails biting into the flesh of his left hand. Mustang had been captured, had been hurt, could be _dead_, all for Ed's sake. These people had been after Ed all along; the note proved that much. If they'd wanted Mustang, they wouldn't have bothered to hold him for ransom.

A wave of emotion threatened to overpower his senses, making him duck his head and bite his lip to keep from breaking down. Guilt, heavy and cold as his automail, dragged him down into that place inside him he hated, the place where the monster he'd made of his mother wheezed and shuddered, where Al's panicked hands reached out even as he disintegrated, where Nina whined and growled with the pain of her new body. He clenched his jaw and tried to keep his breathing even, tried to fight off the shadows of the past because it was the present that worried him. But in the end, the reason for everything was the same.

It was all Ed's fault.

His sins were profound and many, and too many people who were close to him had been hurt because of him. Damn it, Mustang was supposed to be different! They weren't close – they could barely stand each other! Ed didn't trust the Colonel as far as he could throw him, and Mustang played him like a cheap tambourine.

Except… that wasn't true. Oh, shades of it were, because Ed was not naïve and Mustang used what advantages he had to further his ends. But Ed did trust Mustang, implicitly if nothing else. He knew that if Mustang had just handed over information, he'd have been twice as suspicious of the man's motives. That Mustang made him work for every scrap of information or hint of a lead was something Ed respected him for. Izumi had drilled home the lesson that to gain something worth anything you had to work hard to get it.

And now that he thought about it, Mustang had always had his and Al's collective back. He might threaten to expose their secret to keep them in line, but he'd gone out of his way on more than one occasion to keep that secret concealed. He took the flak when Ed fucked up, hell, he'd smoothed the way for Ed to even enter the military – whatever mixed blessing that had been. He had gone above and beyond for them so many times that it made Ed uncomfortable, because he spent most of his life thinking that he could protect Al by himself, without anyone's help. The fact that he _couldn't_ made him furious, and besides, he didn't like owing anyone anything. Not when equivalent exchange dominated his philosophy on life with the mutability of granite and he didn't know what he had that would be a fair trade.

That… that could be why Ed had been so adamant that he disliked the Colonel. He swallowed with the realization. It wasn't that he hated the man, he hated being indebted to him. Because even when he was doing the bastard's dirty work, he was doing it his way, and that caused more trouble for Mustang. When Ed did the right thing, he did it regardless of the consequences because it needed to be done. Unfortunately, the military didn't go by the common man's version of right and wrong, and Mustang had to deal with the fallout every time. And he had, unfailingly. And Ed had fucked up a lot, all told. It added up. And Mustang collected, now and again, but never enough to restore the balance.

Fuck. He was going to save Mustang, if it was the last thing he did.

He would have come to that resolution anyway, even if part of him – the part not drowning in guilt – hadn't been utterly terrified of the sudden bastard-shaped gap in his life. As much as he hated to admit it, Mustang had been one of the few bastions of stability in his and Al's precarious existence. Headquarters on the base was the closest thing they had to a home since that fateful October day five years ago, and no matter how turbulent things got Ed could count on having to give his report to Mustang eventually. The Colonel was _always there_ behind his desk, constant in his smirking taunts and irritated disapproval. To find him suddenly uprooted shook Ed more than he would admit to anyone, not even his little brother. It shook him almost as much as the thought that alchemy _didn't_ explain everything, that the laws of the universe didn't apply.

That alone said something that Ed didn't want to contemplate very deeply at the moment. Therefore, he wasn't going to study the murky, tangled mass of half-formed and unintelligible emotions that made his heart stutter and jump in his chest. Fear, and fierce protective anger that he usually only felt towards Al, and pangs of regret that he'd upset the man and made him storm out like that. He shook his head, trying to focus. Now was not the time.

He finally pried himself away from the door, and uncurled his fists. His left hand's joints ached from the release of pressure, and he flexed them nervously. He located his clothes – not his undercover civvies, but _his_ clothes – and got dressed. He even shrugged into his red coat, and it settled around him with a comforting, familiar rustle. It didn't do much to make him feel better, per se, but he did feel at once more like himself.

Ed paused as he pulled his gloves on, head tilted as a new thought occurred to him.

Speaking of himself, what made these vampires so interested in him? Why had they come after him twice now? Surely they didn't take his first interruption _that_ personally. Why had they gone so far as to hold Mustang hostage to lure him? Were they connected to the homunculi after all? What did they _want_ from him? And why _him_? If they needed someone to work alchemy for them, they already had Mustang, who was a famous state alchemist as well. What was the _point_ of all this terror and pain?

The thoughts stoked the seething anger in his chest, and it felt good. He welcomed the feeling. Righteous anger was much better than crippling guilt or confusing mixed emotions, and it was something Ed knew how to use, to channel. His old determination filled him, even if it was directed towards a new goal. Nothing could stop him when he put his mind to it.

Thus fortified, Ed began to pack his things – he doubted Hughes would leave him here, after tonight – and he was still trying to think of a reason when a knock at the door made him jump at least two feet. He clapped quietly, preparing for a transmutation if it came to that, and crept over to the door. He peered out through the peep hole, and saw Hughes, Hawkeye, and Armstrong standing outside. He huffed a breath of relief, undid the locks, and opened the door.

"Edward, are you all right?" was the first thing out of Hughes's mouth when he entered, fixing Ed with an assessing look. Ed nodded once. Hughes pursed his lips seriously. "Where's the photograph you said they left?"

"It's on the table," Ed replied.

Hughes crossed to it rapidly while the others piled in. Hawkeye nodded to him as she slipped inside. Armstrong followed, shutting the door behind him. The huge man was subdued, as were they all, but it never failed to unnerve Ed when Armstrong didn't even bother with the posturing.

"It has been too long, Edward Elric," he said gravely, putting a massive hand on Ed's shoulder. "I hope one day we may meet when the circumstances are not so dire."

Ed forced his mouth into resembling a smile. "Me, too. How've you been?"

"I have been well. How is Alphonse?"

Before Ed had more than opened his mouth to reply, Hughes made a startlingly gratified noise. Both alchemists turned to see Hughes holding the picture with a fierce, triumphant look in his eye. Hawkeye, who'd surely caught a look at the photograph, had a face like granite.

"What is it, Lieutenant Colonel?" she asked flatly.

"It's just as I thought," Hughes replied unhelpfully. He dug in the inner breast pocket of his coat and produced another photograph, predictably of his daughter.

"With all due respect," Hawkeye began icily, "this is not the time for your family pictures, sir."

"No, no, that's not it. While this is a stunning picture of my darling Elysia, it's also-" he slapped both pictures side by side on the table with a flourish. "A match."

Ed crossed to the table quickly, wondering what on earth Hughes was talking about. The two pictures side by side on the table were nothing alike. Elysia grinned impishly from around a corner in Hughes's house in one, and the other seemed more like a still-frame from a snuff film. But… they were the same size and nearly-square shape, printed on the same oddly thick picture paper. Even the margins were the same.

Ed looked up into Hughes's face. "What does this mean?"

"Think about it. You said Roy left around nine or ten, right? And it's about three in the morning now. There would be no way for the kidnappers to get a picture of Roy developed at this hour, and certainly no way they could get it done so quickly," he explained, pushing the bridge of his glasses up with one hand and holding them there.

"So how did they do it?" Armstrong asked, looming over Ed's shoulder to look for himself.

"These pictures were both taken by the same kind of camera. A new kind of camera. It produces photographs instantly, give or take a few moments. Instead of film, the paper itself is photo-sensitive, and it contains the chemicals for developing the image as well. Thus, a self-developing photograph that is ready in mere minutes," Hughes explained. "That's how they got a picture in such a short time."

Ed scowled. "Well, that's just _spiffy_, but how does this help us?"

"The technology is new. Very new. It was just released on the market a couple weeks ago. As a result, it is still very, very expensive," he replied. "I had to save up for months ahead of time to get mine. Not that many people would be able to afford them, and only the highest-end photography shops carry them."

"Which means that there can't have been that many sold," Hawkeye filled in, catching on.

"Right. It also means we are probably dealing with someone who had a lot of cash to throw around," Hughes replied, dropping his hand to stroke his chin.

Just then, there was another knock at the door. Ed whirled, almost clapping his hands, but no one else seemed alarmed. Armstrong went back to the door and opened it. Havoc slipped inside. He looked distinctly uncomfortable about something.

"Ah, Havoc. Did you find anything?" Hughes asked.

Havoc shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Er. I guess I did. It's… pretty disturbing, actually."

The atmosphere in the room thickened. Ed swallowed. Had someone in the hotel been attacked as well? Killed, even?

"Second Lieutenant, report. Did you question the staff?" Hawkeye barked.

Havoc nodded. "Yeah. I talked to the bartender. The Colonel was there tonight. The guy said he sat talking with some guy for a long time, and they were… friendly. Really friendly, from the sounds of it. They left together around two."

Hawkeye and Hughes caught each other's glances. Ed wasn't sure he was hearing things correctly. There was no way Havoc could be implying what Edward thought he was implying. He frowned in confusion, waiting for someone to clarify.

"You knew, didn't you?" Havoc asked.

"Yes. It was necessary for us to know," Hawkeye replied levelly.

The blond man laughed weakly. "You'd think he'd have mentioned it to the rest of us."

"Does it change your opinion of him as a leader? As an honorable man?" Hughes asked, tone deceptively mild.

Havoc stiffened. His mouth worked for a second before he uttered, "No! He's still the Colonel. But… he's been lying to us. All those girls-"

"There are such things as bisexuals, Second Lieutenant," Hawkeye stated baldly. "You know the power of a reputation. He had to make himself unimpeachable somehow. And we do _not_ have the time to discuss this now."

Ed listened to all this with his jaw hanging so low he was afraid he'd step on it. His brain seemed to be stuck several sentences back. Mustang had gone out and picked up… some _guy_? Mustang was bisexual? People had _known_ about this? The fuck? It was ridiculous – the Colonel was a disgusting womanizing pervert. Straight as an arrow, however many times Ed had told the man to get bent. Which, under the circumstances, under Ed's circumstances, seemed a little perverted even if the comments hadn't been made in that fashion.

"_It's bad enough _you're_ getting a show without the rest of the hotel getting in on the action."_

Mustang's words rang in his ears, and he snapped his mouth shut audibly. A traitorous blush rose in his cheeks. He killed the tiny thrill of interest and hope before it could even take root as more than brilliant flash in mind. This changed nothing. Mustang was still a bastard, still much too old for Ed, still his superior officer. And despite his inexplicably decent attitude towards Ed the past week, there was no way in hell the man would even consider _him_ in that way. Which was as it should be.

So why did it make his chest ache to remind himself of that fact?

He realized Hughes was looking at him and he crossed his arms defensively, blushing harder though he was certain Hughes couldn't read his train of thought. The lieutenant colonel's expression grew veiled and he looked away. Ed almost sagged with relief.

"This man who left with Roy… What did he look like?" Hughes asked, all business.

Havoc rallied himself well, though he still looked uneasy. "Tall, very well dressed. Brown hair, and apparently blind. He wore dark glasses and carried a cane. The bartender seemed to think he was a member of the aristocracy for some reason."

"Did he have a name?"

"The name he gave for his tab was Toby Bramblemoor."

Hughes looked to Armstrong. "Major, your family has been involved with the gentry for generations, right? That name ring a bell?"

"No, sir. There are no well-to-do Bramblemoors in Amestris," Armstrong said with stoic certainty.

"Of course not. An assumed disability, an assumed name," Hughes muttered. His brow furrowed. "But not, perhaps, an assumed identity. Blood will out, won't it?"

"You mean, you think some rich asshole is backing them?" Ed burst out, both to cover his emotions and because he was angry that the others were all talking over his head – which was not the set-up for a short joke, dammit, but damn Mustang more for not being there to make it into one.

"Perhaps," Hughes answered unhelpfully. He stroked his beard, lost in thought.

"What about the picture?" Hawkeye asked.

He shook himself, glancing at her. "We can't do anything with that until business hours, but I'm going to get the sales records from the stores that carry this camera. I think I have an hunch."

His glasses reflected the light from the lamps, blocking his eyes from view, and his grin sent chills down Ed's spine. As with Armstrong, it unnerved Ed when he saw Hughes get completely, deadly serious. And he certainly was both deadly and serious at the moment. Ed realized that it was because it had been Mustang who'd been attacked, and felt a sudden almost wistful wonder that the two men were so close. How did Hughes manage it?

"What about the note?" Ed asked, scowling as he recalled the demanded rendezvous.

"Hm. We'll deal with that tomorrow. Right now, we need to get you out of here and back on base. It's not ideal, but at least we might be better prepared to protect you if it comes to it," Hughes said. "I'll arrange for Al to meet up with you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Hughes," he replied and meant it. He would prefer if Al could come with him right away, but an idea of his own was forming and it would be easier if Al wasn't involved.

"Havoc, Hawkeye. Get him to base and keep your eyes peeled," Hughes said. "Armstrong and I will finish up here. And I don't need to remind you – all of you – to be discreet about everything you've heard about tonight. If the brass gets wind of this, the situation will be out of our hands."

"Sir," Hawkeye said, snapping a salute. Havoc followed suit.

Ed grabbed his bag. He didn't speak again until they were in the car and heading back towards the base.

"Havoc. I need to make a stop," Ed said, watching the blurred streetlamps through the windows.

"Can't it wait until we get to base, Edward?" Hawkeye asked from her seat beside him in the back. There was an unfamiliar note of weariness in her tone.

"Not that kind of stop," Ed barely refrained from sneering. "I… forgot something at the Colonel's house. Research materials. They might help with the investigation."

Havoc met Hawkeye's gaze through the rear-view mirror. She pursed her lips and finally gave a sharp nod.

"Sure thing, boss," Havoc said. He made a sharp right, heading towards Mustang's house.

They reached it within a few minutes, and Ed asked them both to stay in the car. Mustang's house loomed ominously above him, windows dark. He stepped up to the door and clapped, transmuting the lock. The knob turned smoothly in his hand, and he stepped inside warily. The floor of the sitting room was still torn up, the spikes appearing strange and twisted in what dim lighting there was from the windows facing the street. Cautiously, he picked his way over to the end-table. He found matches by feel and lit the lamp.

He contemplated the bookshelves in the flickering yellow light. Where would Mustang keep his secret stash? Somewhere Hughes wouldn't find it, and Hughes knew him best. Probably had the most access to Mustang's home, too. Ed scowled. Not on the shelves, then. It would be too obvious. Ed knew from a thorough raid of the kitchen a few days earlier that the texts weren't in any of the cupboards there, and the bathroom seemed equally unlikely. Mustang knew how to care for books, and the humidity in the bathroom would make them mold.

So that left the guest room and Mustang's own bedroom. The guest room was doubtful as the bathroom for the simple reason that nosy guests would snoop through everything – as he and Al had the first night, he remembered with the ghost of a smile. So. Ed swallowed, ignored the nervous feeling of intrusion. He was doing this for Mustang's own good. The man could yell at him for invasion of privacy as soon as he was back.

Ed took the lamp with him and started up the stairs. He reached Mustang's bedroom and swallowed again, steeling himself. He pushed the door open.

It was bigger than the guest room, and much more lived-in. The large bed was disheveled, white linen and a burgundy comforter tangled about themselves. The closet door was thrown open, full of blue uniform garments and a good deal of civilian clothes hung neatly. There were a few cardboard boxes on the closet floor. A smaller bookshelf next to the low dresser held more volumes.

The whole room smelled like Mustang. Spicy cologne, boot polish, and something clean and fresh like cut grass. Picture frame glittered dimly on top of the dresser and bookshelf. Small knick-knacks were scattered about, too - a shot-glass full of coins, a small wooden horse that looked hand-carved, several bright strings of beads draped across the small mirror above the dresser.

Ed almost turned around and left. It wasn't right, him seeing this place. This was where the Colonel was simply Roy Mustang, and it was as intimate as the glimpse of Mustang's personal darkness earlier that night. The only thing that kept him rooted to the spot was a feeling that Mustang wouldn't have mentioned his books on human transmutation if he didn't think at least one of them held a clue. Ed clenched his jaw and strode into the room.

A quick search of the bookshelf proved fruitless. He dug the boxes out of the closet, but they were full of clothes and shoes and personal paperwork like old tax forms. He reluctantly opened the drawers of the dresser, but once again found only mundane objects. He growled in frustration. Hawkeye and Havoc were still waiting, and it'd been almost fifteen minutes by now. Where could these books be?

His eyes scanned the room, searching for something he'd missed. His eyes swept over the bed, and then back. He stared. Of course.

Getting on his hands and knees, he peered underneath the bed-frame. There was a box there, more beaten-up than the others had been. He pulled it out, coughing at the dust that was raised by doing so. He pried the cardboard flaps open.

Inside he found newspapers from a few years ago, a few boxes of ammo, a holster and gun that both looked worn and dirty. An empty bottle of some kind of liquor. Ed dug deeper. A photograph of a younger Mustang standing next to Hughes in a hospital bed, the intelligence officer's leg in a cast and elevated with a strap. There was a woman in the background who looked vaguely familiar to Ed. He frowned and put the picture aside. He didn't understand these things. He rummaged a bit more, losing heart. He was about to shove it back under the bed when his flesh hand closed on something beneath one of the newspapers. The spine of a book.

Paydirt.

A little more effort and Ed secured a stack of three books. One looked to be the Colonel's own research journal, and Ed couldn't bring himself to examine it. It wouldn't have anything useful in it, or Mustang himself would have said something by now. He stowed it without looking at it, guilt outweighing his curiosity. The second book was a general text on human alchemy, one Ed had memorized in his father's study some years ago. The last one seemed to be another research journal, but the handwriting on the cover was not Mustang's precise hand. Years of wear and tear had rendered the script illegible, so Ed cracked it open to get a better look.

Ed felt his stomach drop and his eyes widen. He knew this handwriting. He knew this code. He and Al had cracked it just before they'd committed their sin.

This was Hohenheim's journal.

How the hell had Mustang gotten a hold of this?

A short, sharp car horn shattered the perfect silence of his shock, and he jumped to his feet, startled. He glanced around and then down at the book in his hand. His lip curled into a sneer, loath to admit that his father's journal was the best thing he had to a lead. Still, he would not look a gift horse in the mouth. He pocketed the book and grabbed the lamp again.

Though, as he rushed downstairs, he couldn't help but feel a bit more resolved. Hohenheim was a bastard and a terrible father, but he knew his alchemy. If anyone knew about these vampires, it would be him. Ed sighed and resigned himself to another long, sleepless night of studying. And this time, Al wouldn't be with him to make sure he didn't fall asleep.

Ed clenched his jaw tightly. He could still faintly feel the pull in the bite-mark on his neck. He be damned if he let these assholes do that to Mustang again. Or worse…

No. He refused to contemplate it. They couldn't be that stupid. A dead hostage was a useless hostage, and they wanted Ed, dammit, not Mustang, and if they'd killed him Ed would blow up half of Central just to make sure he got every last motherfucking one of them.

"Shit, Mustang," he muttered to himself as he locked the door behind him, "you are going to owe me for this one. Big time. So you'd better be alive to pay up, you fuckface."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

"It's what you wanted to see  
It's who you wanted to be  
For what you needed to need"_  
_  
- "_Love"_ by the Smashing Pumpkins

**Chapter Seven**

_"I knew you'd find it eventually," Hohenheim said, beaming down at Ed. "You take after me, you know. Your mother always said so. I'm so glad you could follow in my footsteps, Ed." _

He reached out a hand to ruffle Ed's hair. As his fingers drew nearer, the flesh melted from the bone and Ed wanted to flinch away. His body would not move, and skeletal fingers threaded through his bangs. The smell of rot and blood was overpowering.

_He could see past his father's shoulder. His mother was there - but not his mother, the thing that they'd made to replace their mother. He wanted to scream, wanted to vomit. He could do nothing.  
_

"_Finally I have an heir worthy of the family legacy." _

Blood began spilling forth from the grotesque mockery of a human form, so much blood it was impossible, so much blood that it swiftly rose past his knees, past his waist, and then over his head. His vision was washed in red, but he could still see the smile on his father's face, see the pointed teeth and fiery eyes.

"_I'm so proud of you," Hohenheim said. "So proud."_

_Mocking echoes chased Ed as he sank deeper and deeper, drowning in blood. _

The sound of a door opening shocked Ed awake. He sat bolt upright, which unbalanced the chair he was sitting in. His dorm room tilted around him, and then he landed with a heavy thud.

"Brother!"

"Oh, my head," Ed groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. Really, he hated headwounds. They took forever to stop hurting. It'd been almost a full week since his concussion; with his rapid recovery rate, one would think he'd be healed by now.

"Are you all right?" Al asked. He clomped carefully into the room and shut the door behind him.

Ed grimaced and sat up. "No permanent damage." He looked up at Al and smiled in honest relief. "Oh, man, am I glad to see you."

Al offered him a hand up, which he took. Once on his feet, he dusted himself off.

"Hughes told me what happened on the phone this morning," Al said, sounding a little scared and a lot worried.

"Yeah," Ed said. He clenched his hands into fists. "They got him. The Colonel."

"We've got to save him, Brother. Hughes says they're making a plan," Al informed him..

"Huh, this is just like Mustang," Ed snarled suddenly. "Bastard, getting caught just because he wanted to get some tail. Now we're stuck here trying to haul his ass out of the fire. Manipulative prick that he is, I bet he _still_ has us all dancing on his strings. Maybe we should just leave him with those fucktards, give him a taste of his own medicine."

"Brother!" Al gasped. "You don't mean that."

Ed didn't. He had surprised himself with his rant, and why had he said all that? It wasn't what he meant. He had wanted to reassure Al, not blame Mustang. Ed turned away, letting his bangs shield his face from view.

Fuck, he was so confused. Why was it so hard to admit - to Al, his own brother for god's sake - that he was upset about getting Mustang captured? If he hadn't been staying with the Colonel, the man wouldn't have been in the line of fire. And Ed wanted to rescue Mustang as much as anyone else, besides maybe Hughes and Hawkeye. He wanted to charge off right now, in fact, but he had no idea where the man was being held.

Thus, he was frustrated. This seemed to be a running theme in his life. It was just easier to take out his frustration on Mustang. The familiarity of it soothed him when so many other things were becoming distressingly abnormal. Ed took a shaky breath.

"We'll get him back, Al."

Al clinked softly as he relaxed his pose. In a much softer tone, he said, "Yes, we will."

Ed busied himself with picking up his chair, which brought him to the small desk. On it sat Hohenheim's journal and Ed's painstaking notes. The nightmare was still fresh as a bleeding wound. Ed closed his eyes and prepared himself. The notes were for Al's sake - the details of his late-night cram session burned with painful clarity in his mind.

The book was thick, and Ed hadn't wasted time reading it all. He'd searched it systematically for something, _anything_ that would help. The code itself hadn't given Ed any trouble; it was identical to the journals he and Al had read as children. But it seemed that this journal was both a professional and a personal confession. For every diagram and array, there were three new shocking revelations scribbled in the margins, all about the man who Ed heretofore could only think of as a cowardly homewrecker.

And the alchemy, the motherfucking _alchemy_. The descriptions sounded so fantastical and nonsensical that he wondered if his paranoid father hadn't hidden a code within his code. It was inspired. It was insane. It was convoluted and brilliant and dangerous and alluring. Which made perfect sense, if dear old Dad had indeed cited the correct source. Ed had torn his eyes from engrossing pages with something akin to physical pain as he'd skimmed.

He'd found more than he'd ever hoped to. Much more. And he hadn't read the damn thing from cover to cover yet.

He'd learned some really terrible things, things Hohenheim had done. None of it was put in chronological order, which made for a dizzying puzzle of horrific events. If any half of it was true, then their father was a monster of a man, and Ed didn't know if he wanted Al to know. Ed hated the bastard, now with even more good reason, but that didn't mean he wanted to shatter Al's concept of their dad so utterly and completely. In a lot of ways, Al was still innocent despite all they'd been through. Edward didn't know how his little brother would react to the news that their father had periodically committed genocide to create the stone in order to seal his soul into some other person's body.

...Hell, when it came down to it, he didn't know how _he _was reacting to that particular eye-opener.

Perhaps... he could fudge the truth a bit. Not an actual _lie_, because Al would be able to spot it a mile away. He'd just keep a lot to himself until Al was older, when they were both restored. When the morality of what they were doing was a moot point.

Because giving up was not an option.

"_You take after me, you know."_

Ed pressed his lips into a grim line. His dream might not have been too far from the mark. Not that he intended to admit it to anyone, ever. However noble Ed's intentions were, there was no denying both he and his father were obsessed with finding the stone. It scared Ed how close he'd already come to taking a step down the bloody trail Hohenheim had blazed. He could almost still feel the frightened gaze of the death-row inmates as he prepared to transmute them into the stone...

"Hey, what is that?" Al asked, and Ed realized he'd been staring at the closed journal for some time. He mentally kicked himself. Great way to draw unnecessary attention to the suspicious literature.

"It's a book I got from Mustang," he began his fib. It was best to go with bits of the truth, and he could get away with that if Al didn't become too specific in his questions. "It's about human transmutation."

"Can I see?" Al asked. He reached out a hand, eager to have something to do.

"It's in code. Took me all night to get through," Ed said with an artful yawn. As he stretched, he picked up the journal and his notes. He shoved the latter into Al's waiting hands. "That's the important stuff. This guy had some damn weird shit to say, and his methods are vile, but he pretty much describes the creatures we're up against."

Al leafed through Ed's notes. His shoulders hunched in confusion at the disordered handwriting interspersed between pages of complex arrays. He came to one that made him pause and make a small exclamation.

Ed peered at the page Al was staring at and recognized the looping arcs in an instant.

"This is the Grand Arcanum," Al almost whispered. "This man worked on the Philosopher's Stone, too? And he knew the Grand Arcanum? I thought only Ishbalites knew about it."

"Well, _we _know about it, don't we? Thanks to that damn Scar guy. And Doctor Marco had at least seen some of it," Ed grumbled loudly. He had to discourage any questions relating to the journal. Not only that, he had to disguise his own frustration.

Hohenheim had indeed mentioned the Philosopher's Stone and a couple different ways of making it. He hadn't gone into detail much, but from what he did make note of, Ed could tell that these methods were as gruesome and bloody as the Grand Arcanum. Which made them just as worthless to him and Al, because they all required live human sacrifice. Even with all the new leads, they were still barely beyond square one. Ed really didn't want to dwell on that. He had enough to worry about for one morning.

"We'll talk about the stone later, Al. We have something to take of first."

"You're right. Sorry, Brother," Al said so contritely that Ed felt a sharp pang of guilt. "So, what are these creatures, then?"

"Page nine," Ed said. "'The Conception of the Nosferatu.'"

"Nosferatu? That means they _are _vampires," Al said loudly over the rustling pages.

"No, idiot," Ed snapped. He flopped on his bunk. Surreptitiously, he slipped the journal under his pillow and disguised the movement by tucking his hands behind his head. "They're _Nosferatu_. All vampire myths are embellishments and folk-lore distortions of the originals."

Al began to read the notes aloud.

"'According to the Ruby Tablet, the legendary lost writings or Hermes Trismegistus-' Whoa, wait. _Hermes Trismegistus_? The man who wrote the Emerald Tablet?" Alphonse stammered. "He's the founder of all modern alchemy!"

"Yep."

"_Yep_? How can you be so blasé about it? This _has _to be false information. I've never even heard of this 'Ruby Tablet' before," Al said skeptically.

"Yeah, well, it's legendary _lost _writing. Every alchemist knows Hermes wrote a lot more than the Emerald Tablet, but most of his writings were destroyed in the Dark Ages, before science won over superstition. This Ruby Tablet is supposedly a document that was hidden away to preserve it for future generations," Ed said, which was almost true.

Hohenheim and his woman _had_ discovered it - and then tried to keep others from learning of it as well. Ed fought with a hard coil of anger in his stomach. That bastard had done so many horrible things with the knowledge of the stone. It boggled his mind to think about it.

He had to focus. Otherwise, they'd be going over these notes all day.

"Trust me, the source is reliable. Mustang wouldn't have given it to me, otherwise," Ed said in his firmest big-brother voice.

"Oh, like the Colonel's never given us a bum lead before," Al retorted, shaking the papers at Ed. "Honestly, how do we know this stuff if on the level? I sincerely doubt Hermes Trismegistus wrote a 'Ruby Tablet.'"

Ed twitched and his patience died a death long coming. "Gee, I don't know either, Al. Why don't we ask him? Oh, wait, he's been dead for millennia. Tell you what, if _we're _all still alive in a few days, we'll sit down and debate, okay? As for right now, it's not a bum lead, it's our _only _lead, so I suggest you quit whining about who wrote the fucking thing and concentrate and what it _says_."

Al gave this due consideration, and finally said, "You're really grumpy this morning."

Ed bridled and used the last of his will power to turn despondently towards the wall. Anything he could say to that would come out as a lot of screaming, which was just as counterproductive as Al's nit-picking things like 'reliable sources.' Of course, Ed couldn't tell him that he knew their old man wouldn't waste precious journal space on inaccurate theories. Likewise he couldn't explain that the part of himself which had an innate, almost intuitive understanding of alchemy told him how scarily _right_ the arrays in the journal looked. Like Ed had known how to draw them before he saw them, only he hadn't _known _that he knew until he saw them.

"Fine," Al said, interrupting his train of thought."I'll read your notes, brother." Ed heard him sit down creakily and clankily in the desk chair. "Ahem. 'According to the Ruby Tablet, the legendary lost writings of Hermes Trismegistus, the Nosferatu were created first amongst the desert tribes to whom Hermes passed his legacy. Supposedly, the knowledge of a way to gain immortality was gifted to them by their god, Thoth, and all who passed through the Gate would gain his symbol. See Figure Two.'

"Well, at least you're thorough," Al said charitably.

"Shut up," Ed replied. "I don't need to hear all this, so quit talking. I want to get a little more sleep while you catch up."

"Oh, but I wanted to prove to you I _am _reading it. Since you seem to think it says some very _important _things. If my wise big brother went to sleep now, who would I ask for clarification?" Al said in a sickly sweet voice.

"If I'm being grumpy, you're being passive aggressive," Ed accused.

"Really? You think so?" When Ed just fumed, Al sighed and asked, "Who's Thoth, anyway?"

"I dunno. Some god or other. He also supposedly gave his people a method for predicting the future," Ed explained. "I think that might have something to do with the 'symbol' thing, but the book didn't go into detail."

Al rustled the papers again. "Oh. What is the array the Nosferatu use to transform? And how do they do it? Homunculi are born when human transmutation fails, right? So how is a vampire born? It isn't really spread through biting, is it?"

Ed snorted. "Of course not, dumbass. Otherwise I'd be a leech by now, too."

"So how, then?"

"It isn't pretty," Ed murmured darkly. He rolled onto his other side to face Al. "The array wasn't included in the book, I think because they probably didn't want people turning themselves into vampires. Basically, though, the alchemist has to give up his or her soul."

Al gasped, the papers slipping through his fingers to spill all over the floor.

"Yeah," Ed agreed gravely. "Sick, isn't it?"

"Why would anyone do that? Your soul is what makes you _human_," Al said with feeling.

Ed shrugged. "Power. Why else? In exchange for your soul, you never age, you grow physically stronger and faster, you can quickly heal wounds that would be fatal otherwise. Also..."

"Also?"

"The Nosferatu... are a way to gain the Philosopher's Stone."

Al became very still. "Wh-what?"

"It's their other power. Or rather, the source of their power," Ed began. "The book says that what the alchemist gains from the Gate is immortality, but it only lasts as long as the Nosferatu feed regularly on human blood. Without it, they can't heal themselves or use alchemy. But if they have a steady supply-"

"Like all those missing people," Al filled in.

"Right. When they feed on blood... well, here's where it gets complicated. We knew, even as children, that blood is tied to the soul somehow. Hermes Trismegistus knew it, too. He figured out that the blood acts as a direct link to a victim's soul energy, and that is what really feeds the Nosferatu."

"Wait a minute! That means that the woman from the other day - she was drinking your _soul_?" Al asked, and if he'd had a jaw, it would have been on the floor.

"Er. Yes. Kind of," Ed admitted with a wince. He flapped his hands to forestall Al's objections. "Like I said, it gets complicated. The book didn't explain very well, either. But she couldn't have drunk my _soul_, otherwise I'd be... dead. Or something."

"Or something?"

Ed sighed and scrubbed his face. "Don't worry about that now. We're talking about the Nosferatu. Anyway, if a vampire lives long enough and drinks enough blood, they can condense red stones inside their bodies.

"That is how they can do alchemy as well. And there are arrays for condensing a whole vampire to its constituent red stones. That's one of the ways they can be defeated," Ed said, and paused.

"This 'condensing' stuff sounds... gross and creepy," Al muttered uneasily. "Is there another way?"

"Yeah, but it's not much better. If you take the red stones out of their bodies, they become vulnerable to normal means. But most would probably die just from that."

"Why? Can't they heal it?"

"Not if you do it right. Sometimes not even if you do it wrong. They condense the stones in their heart. You need to rip the whole thing out," Ed explained, his voice feeling heavy in his throat.

"Brother," Al said worriedly. He got up to sit next to Ed's legs on the bed. "This sounds pretty bad."

Ed laughed humorlessly. Al didn't know the half of it. "You're a real master of understatement sometimes, Al."

"Yeah, I know. So, what are we going to do?"

Ed looked from his brother to the ceiling. "We'll think of something. We know what they are now, and how to beat them. We know that they're just more alchemists hell-bent on making the Philosopher's Stone no matter what the cost. It makes us look bad, doesn't it?"

"I'll say. Brother... do you think these Nosferatu are in league with the Homunculi?" Al asked reluctantly, as if he didn't want to be correct.

"I... don't think so," Ed responded at last. "The Homunculi seem too... impatient. They're in a hurry, always trying to attract as many lunatics as possible to dance on their puppet-strings. The Nosferatu method takes centuries. Besides, these guys are complete fuck-ups compared to the Homunculi. Seriously, a ransom note and knife in the wall? Tons of mysterious disappearances? You'd expect that from common street thugs. "

It was Al's turn to heave a sigh, though his was one of relief. "At least we don't have to worry about them, then. If this situation got any more complicated, we'd be-"

"Utterly cluster-fucked," Ed finished morosely. He flopped his flesh hand over his eyes and grimaced. He thought of Mustang languishing somewhere, at the mercy of god knew many vampires. He felt all the information he'd gleaned from Hohenheim's journal jostling in his brain. And in a few minutes, he was going to have to track Hughes down and help devise a plan for tonight. "Too late."

---------------------------------------

At the same time, at the other end of the base Lust and Gluttony were waiting in Pride's office when he got there that morning. Lust lounged provocatively on the desk, and her companion sat in a bulbous sprawl on the floor beside it. The curtains had been drawn against the bright winter sunlight outside, and the light from the hallway sliced like a dagger straight to the smirk on Lust's face.

"Good morning," Pride said pleasantly, aware that he could be heard by passers in the hall. "Would you please take a seat?"

"The ones we have are just fine. We're not staying long," Lust replied.

"Your carpet is cushy," Gluttony added. He pouted, one finger in his mouth. "But Lust says it's not tasty."

Behind Pride, Sloth huffed her disapproval. She shut the door and locked it.

"At least you had the sense to cover the windows. You know you shouldn't be here during the day," Sloth said, glaring at Lust narrowly.

"Oh, dear. Worried we'd blow your cover?" Lust asked. She pointedly tossed her hair over one shoulder. "Don't be such a wet blanket, Sloth. You know I wouldn't come here over nothing. I just thought Pride might like some information."

Sloth frowned, unimpressed, but fell silent. Pride stepped forward.

"What is it? Make it quick. I'm expected out in a few minutes," he said in a no-nonsense tone.

"Couple of suckers stole the fireman from the shrimp," Gluttony burbled with vapid amusement.

"Gluttony," Lust reprimanded softly. "Let me explain first."

"Sorry, Lust. I'm hungry."

"I know. We'll eat later."

"Get on with it, Lust," Sloth warned. She stood with her arms crossed and mouth set in a line of displeasure. If Envy had been there, he would have pointed out that she acted just like a _mother_ some days.

As it was, Lust shrugged one bare shoulder. "Gluttony and I have been tailing the Elrics again. We lost them for a few days, but last night we found them again. Well, we found the pipsqueak at any rate."

"Good for you," Pride said with a beaming smile. He walked up to the desk, his shining boots not making a sound on the thick rug. When he was directly in front of Lust, he stopped. His smile dropped. "Though I trust that is not what you came to tell me. The Elrics are not our main concern right now."

" I know. I think they bear a little watching, though, even if it's just because they seem to get into the most _interesting_ dilemmas," Lust drawled, studying her fingernails with practiced nonchalance. "Fullmetal was in a hotel with his commanding officer, the Flame Alchemist. You know the one, he's been in the papers lately. He was kidnapped. Since I know you find the man useful, I thought I'd let you know."

"Kidnapped?" Pride was surprised. He should have known Mustang would be the only man who could pull off that particular feat. "Who kidnapped him?"

"I'm not sure _who_ they are," Lust said. She nodded towards Gluttony. "But he says he knows _what_ they are."

Sloth scoffed quietly, but Pride turned to the fat man on the floor. Gluttony was looking pitiful, still chewing on his finger. Drool dripped down his chin.

"Gluttony," Lust said. "Tell Pride what you told me about the suckers."

"The suckers! Tasty, tasty! Can I eat one, Lust? Can I?" Gluttony twisted to plead at her with his empty eyes.

Just then, as Sloth looked nearly ready to kick the two interlopers out for wasting time, there was a knock at the door. Everyone froze. Looks were exchanged. Lust and Gluttony moved to hide from view of the door while Sloth switched on the lights. Pride slipped a brick-wall smile into place and went back to the door.

He opened it just wide enough to show only himself. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Sir," a nondescript soldier said, saluting. Then an unmistakable smirk flashed across his face. Pride hadn't been fooled for a moment, anyway. "I have an urgent message for you, sir."

"No use standing about, then. Come inside," Pride said, and stepped aside to allow him to pass through.

The door had barely shut again and Envy had already transformed to his accustomed body. Sloth looked even less welcoming than before, and Lust and Gluttony eased back out into the room. Envy surveyed them all and his snide expression intensified.

"I didn't know you were expecting company," he said.

"Yes, we're very popular today," Sloth told him, plainly irritated. "And you interrupted us. Gluttony was about to tell us something."

"Really?" Envy perked up and turned to the pudgy homunculus. He put his hands on his knees and said in a voice generally reserved for pets, "What is it, boy? Is Timmy in the well?"

Gluttony drew his brows down in confusion. "Who's Timmy?"

"Don't pick on him," Lust said sharply. She looked at Gluttony. "Don't worry about Timmy. Tell us about the suckers."

This seemed to penetrate. Gluttony opened his mouth to speak, but Envy talked right over him.

"If you all are going to listen to _him_, I've got some news about 'suckers' for you," Envy said unhelpfully.

Gluttony tried again.

"You don't even know what he's going to say," Lust said, exasperated.

Gluttony frowned. Thoughts moved like glaciers in his mind, and once one got in, it took a lot of time for it to melt away. He knew what he had to say was important, too. But now everyone was talking all at once.

"All of you stop bickering," Sloth said.

"We don't have time for this," Pride reminded them.

"Let me guess," Envy was saying to Lust, ignoring the other two altogether. "It has something to do with the -"

"Nosferatu," Gluttony said loudly. "Two of them. They took the fireman from the pipsqueak."

Everyone stopped talking at this oddly coherent thought. Sloth shot a confused glance at Pride, who seemed taken aback. Lust, though she was not much less confused than Sloth, grinned smugly at Envy's nonplussed expression. He was not speechless for long, though.

"Huh. Whaddaya know? He remembers his favorite treats," Envy said. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Nosferatu? What are they?" Sloth asked.

Envy grinned nastily. "Oh, that's right. You three weren't born until after we wiped them out."

"I've heard the master mention them," Pride said thoughtfully. His eyes were calculating. "Vampires, aren't they?"

"Vampires," Sloth repeated doubtfully. "Are there such things?"

"Wait," Lust said, finally registering what Envy had said a few moments ago. "You knew about the Nosferatu?"

"Well, _yeah_. I could smell something different in town as soon as I rolled in. Fear. The whole city stinks of it," he told them with disgust. "Weak little creatures that they are, they've been terrorizing the populace."

"There _have_ been more kidnappings recently," Pride admitted. "But it's just a few commoners."

Envy rounded on him. "Until they got _our_ playthings involved. They're after the pipsqueak. This is why we had to kill them all off. They don't think about what they're meddling with, the higher plans. "

"How did you know that they were after the boy?" Lust demanded.

Envy smirked insufferably. "I ran into one of them a few days ago. She'd given the Fullmetal midget a memorable first kiss."

"You've known for _days_ that there were Nosferatu in the city? And you didn't tell anyone?"

He shrugged. "Must have slipped my mind."

"Obviously that wasn't the only thing. I asked you to report to me as soon as you got back," Pride said darkly. "Did you accomplish your objective?"

Envy sneered and transformed back into the soldier from earlier. He saluted sarcastically. "I accomplished the _shit_ out of my objective, sir. Scar is headed East on a nice, long goose chase. By the time he realizes it and comes back for more State Alchemists to kill, our other preparations will be complete. Provided, of course, that these fucking vampires are taken care of by then."

"What are we going to do about them?" Sloth asked. "If both Fullmetal and Mustang are involved, that could throw a wrench into our plans."

Pride frowned. He hated thinking tactically first thing in the morning. It made it that much harder to appear blissfully mild-mannered for the rest of the day. "Do we know where Mustang is?"

"No," Lust replied. "We followed Fullmetal."

"Where did he go?"

"Back here. A blond man and woman were with him," Lust said.

"Lieutenants Hawkeye and Havoc, no doubt. Hmm." He paced slowly as he thought. "We can't afford to attract attention. Lust, you and Gluttony follow the boy. He'll lead us to Mustang, and the Nosferatu. As soon as you find them, report the location back to me and await further instruction."

"You've got something up your sleeve," Envy muttered, changing back into himself.

"Of course," Pride replied. "I would make a pretty horrible ruler if I didn't."

-----------------------------------

Roy woke slowly, agonizingly, like clawing his way out of the packed earth of a grave. His entire upper body felt like an open wound. First he was aware of a searing pain in his skull, as if white-hot knives were being driven in and twisted. He groaned and shifted, and realized he couldn't move from his prone position. His arms were bound above his head, and his shoulders ached from lack of circulation. His neck throbbed in rhythm with his head. His stomach clenched and rolled distressingly. He swallowed, mouth cottony and tasting absolutely foul.

His thoughts were incoherent and confusing for long moments as he took all this in. Then his headache increased exponentially when memories of the previous night came flooding back. The conversation with Ed, getting drunk, the attack. Oh God, how could he have been so sloppy? So stupid? Letting his guard down, leaving the room without his gloves, falling into bed with a suspicious stranger. And all that had ended with getting kidnapped, obviously. He ground his teeth together grimly. At least he knew why his neck hurt.

But where the hell _was_ he?

Cautiously cracking an eye open made his head ache even more, though there was little light. From what he could make out, he was lying on a large, soft canopy bed. The room was richly endowed with dark wood furniture, tasteful tapestries on the walls, and embroidered damask drapes over the windows to his left. It smelled of must and mothballs. His hands, including his fingers, were tied to the carved headboard with smooth rope - silk, from the feel of it. How considerate. The closed door across from him looked depressingly solid.

So, a prisoner. He let his head drop, closing his eyes again. His stomach was churning harder now, and he swallowed rather desperately. These creatures had been right in their hotel, had been able to find him, perhaps had found Edward as well. And it was all his fault. If he hadn't let his baser instincts get the better of him, if he hadn't left the room, if he hadn't gotten roaring drunk… God, he was a fool.

He didn't know how long he hung there in a haze of misery and self-castigation. Finally the sound of footsteps in the hallway roused him, and he drew himself up. He could not afford to let these people see him weakened like this. He couldn't bring himself to smirk and settled for a hard glare as the locks turned and the door swung open on creaking hinges.

A woman entered, and from her sweet features and dark hair, he guessed it was the vampire Edward had described in his home. She wore a risqué red gown with black lace and a short skirt, but for once Roy did not even bother running his eyes over the exposed flesh. She left the door hanging open and smiled saccharinely as she walked up to the bed.

"So, you're the one that caught his attention," she murmured, her voice dulcet and purring. _She_ had no problems with undressing him visually. "I can see why."

Roy clenched his jaw. "Who are you people? What do you want?"

"You haven't figured it out by now?" she asked, snorting in disbelief. "And they say that the State Alchemists are all geniuses. Well, I guess you bookish types wouldn't know the truth if it _bit_ you."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The woman drew her brows down into a fine pout, and she sniffed haughtily at her unappreciative captive audience.

"My master wishes you to be cleaned up, so you're to come with me. I've a friend waiting outside to see that you behave. If you so much as wiggle your fingers like you might want to draw an array, we'll break every bone in those pretty hands of yours," she said, leaning uncomfortably close to leer into his face. "Are we clear?"

He glared back at her without flinching. She laughed softly, reaching up his arms. Roy felt certain ropes slacken and pull away. His hands and fingers were still bound together, but his arms were free to move away from the headboard. Muscles left in one position for too long screamed in protest, and almost immediately a painful case of pins-and-needles kicked in as his circulation improved.

He wasn't given much time to contemplate it, however, as the woman pulled him abruptly to his feet. His head throbbed and his stomach lurched, but by some miracle he didn't humiliate himself by getting sick all over the place. He was bodily dragged from the room into the hallway. A tall, muscular guy in filthy rags leaned dully by the door jamb, and Roy knew just by looking at him that something was wrong.

The man was probably not much older than Roy himself, but his eyes were clouded and sunken. His lips were a grayish-blue, and his skin was distressingly pale. An odor Roy recognized made his stomach do back-flips.

"Eight," the woman said in a commanding tone. The man turned to face them, and Roy blanched.

He hadn't seen it when the man was in profile, but from straight on it was plain that half his face was rotting off. It was a putrid greenish-yellow, puffy and somehow sticky-looking. Which explained the smell. The man's lips hung open, and drool trickled down his chin in strings, and there was no spark of recognition or intelligence in his eyes. As Roy watched, the man's cheek twitched unsettlingly, and he realized that there were _maggots _crawling under the skin.

That was the last straw, and his stomach rebelled instantly and violently. Roy doubled over and retched onto the carpeted hall floor.

"Ugh, disgusting," the woman said, wrinkling her nose as she watched him.

"Wh-what the hell is that thing?" Roy demanded when he was finished. He spat and wiped at his mouth with the sleeve of his ruined white shirt.

"He's what's left of victim number eight," she replied in a bored tone. She waved her hand in a vague gesture. "They get like that after the master is through with them. Actually, Eight's still got a lot of pep in him compared to, say, Three. _She _won't be useful much longer, keeps dripping all over the place."

Roy gagged again at the mental image this conjured. The woman grinned.

"What do you mean, when he's 'done with them'?" Roy asked, desperately attempting to keep his voice steady. A nervous sweat had broken out all over his body.

"When he's sucked them dry," she replied. "They stay cognizant for the first few days or so, before the rot sets in. They say it's not so bad. Gives you something to look forward to, doesn't it?"

The decaying man groaned as if in response, and the woman nodded encouragingly. She jerked Roy into motion and forced him to march ahead of her. Roy felt shaky and distant, and realized that he was drifting into a shocked state. That was bad. He had to be on his guard here. Laboriously, he drew himself into alertness. Dragging footsteps echoed behind him, and this time he couldn't stop his shudder.

He hoped to God that Edward wasn't here. Poor kid had enough nightmares.

After many corridors and hallways, some too dark for him to see at all, he was finally brought to a bathroom. The woman, who still hadn't named herself, shoved him inside. Eight lumbered in after. The room was lavish as Roy'd expected, all glass and gold and gleaming white tiles with a sunken white marble tub and matching sinks. Even the toilet looked like one had to be royalty to sit on it.

"There's nothing in here to draw an array with, so don't even think about it," his captor said as she deftly untied his hands. "I'll be right on the other side of that door, listening. Eight here will keep an eye on you. Be a good boy now."

She took the rope with her and closed and locked the door. Roy glared at it as he shook out his hands, then glanced sidelong at Eight. The zombie gurgled at him, but didn't move.

"Hurry up," the woman said through the door. "The master hates it when you keep him waiting."

Roy didn't give a rat's ass about what the master hated, but nature called. He washed up after, and saw the extent of the damage in the mirror over the sink. His neck had a remarkable variety of hickeys, most of which he did not recall receiving. One in particular gave a painful throb when he saw it, recognizing it as a bite mark like Edward's, only his apparently had stopped bleeding without stitches. Dried blood crusted over his shoulder, back, and chest, and he had to strip to the waist to make sure he got it all.

He continued splashing around in the sink to buy some time to think. He wondered if Eight would notice if he tried to cut himself on something and draw an array with his blood. But even if he got away with it, that still left the question of what array would do him any good. Roy didn't know how many of these creatures there were, and short of blowing the whole place sky-high he doubted he could find a way out. Besides, he couldn't do anything that drastic until he knew whether Edward was here. Reluctantly, he turned off the tap.

Eight groaned. Roy heard the door open, and he turned. People kept walking in on him when he was semi-nude, and it was getting old. The woman oggled him up and down. Roy reached for his shirt - even as disgusting as it was to keep wearing it, at least it kept him covered.

"Don't bother with that," she purred as she approached. "Master'll have you out of it in five seconds anyway."

Roy stiffened at the insinuation.He felt his stomach drop sharply, and he realized that he had been passed out for God knows how long. Obviously _someone _had not been bothered by his insensibility, or else he wouldn't have bite mark. What _else _had they done to him while he slept? He didn't feel sore below the belt, but that didn't mean anything. He thought he might be sick again, but he fought back the panic.

It was just a mind game. It had to be. He was not some new recruit. He'd been in Ishbal, had seen first hand or heard of just about everything done to prisoners of war on either side. These creatures, they were the enemy, and they wanted him off his guard and vulnerable. He couldn't let them get to him. Even if they _had... _He wouldn't think about it. There were more important things at stake. He couldn't give away anything more about himself, because they were stockpiling it all to use against him.

The woman hadn't waited for him to regain his equilibrium, and his hands were bound again, this time behind his back. Without preamble, she shoved him out of the bathroom. They went at a brisk pace through yet another series of hallways and down a long spiral staircase. Finally, they stopped outside a reinforced steel door. The woman banged on it.

The door swung open with the screeching of unoiled metal. Standing in the doorway was Toby Bramblemoor - if that was his real name, which Roy doubted.

"Sir, our guest is ready to speak with you," the woman said, and her tone was much more subservient than it had been a few moments ago.

"Very good, Mercy. I'm glad you took care of him," he said, as smoothly polite as he'd been the night before. His lips quirked upwards. "I'm sure he'll be _begging_ for you by the time I'm done with him."

Mercy tittered dutifully, and Roy rolled his eyes. _Him, _too? What was it with these people?

**TBC**

**Footnotes:** Hermes Trismegistus and his Emerald Tablet were arguably the most influential forces that shaped alchemy as we know it today. It's pretty interesting, so I'd recommend googling it or however you like to do your research. As far as the Ruby Tablet goes, it's all my own invention and doesn't actually exist. Anyway, yeah. Just keepin' it real wit' ma homie Hermes. Word, yo. Or something.

Let me know what you think! It makes me sad that there are almost more people who have this story on alert than have reviewed. TT So, please review and make me feel all happy and squishy inside.

Remember, the rating for this fic will move up to "M" next chapter because of stuff. So look out, yo.


	8. Chapter 8

Gonna make you scared of me  
'Cause haemoglobin is the key  
Haemoglobin is the key  
To a healthy heartbeat

- "_Haemoglobin"_ by Placebo

**Chapter Eight**

"Nice dungeon. Do all your guests end up in it?" Roy asked before he could remember that the best defense was not necessarily a good offense. Especially when he held no cards to play in this game.

The gentleman glanced at him condescendingly. "It seems I've been remiss as a host." He called over his shoulder, "Neitherworth, do make the good Colonel comfortable, since he is so eager."

The massive door squealed again as it was pulled the rest of the way open by a man of similar proportions to Armstrong, though he did not at all seem as good natured. From the short, pale bristle of hair on his unwashed head to the cheap and semi-ragged state of his clothes, this giant screamed 'back-alley hired goon.' Neitherworth bared his teeth and grabbed Roy's bound hands from Mercy's grip.

He found himself dragged into some sort of laboratory or alchemical workshop. That was putting it mildly. It was more an obsession chalked and painted across every open expanse of stone floor and walls, like some kind of deranged wallpaper. Some of the transmutation circles looked familiar, and Roy realized they were for human transmutation. However, it seemed that almost half the room was given over to an enormous, complex array that Roy had never seen before.

Neitherworth guided him through a series of walkways free of designs and regularly stationed worktables that held either piles of notes or bunsen burners and glass beakers filled with unidentifiable chemicals. Finally he jerked Roy to stand beneath a pair of manacles on chains that attached to the ceiling above. Fingers the size of sausages undid the rope on Roy's hands and then slapped a manacle on each wrist. The chains were just high enough that Roy was forced to stand on the tips of his toes.

The door slammed shut with a resounding clang, and Nietherworth stepped away. Roy faced the far wall with its intricate array, his back to the door. He could not see the gentleman approach, but in the sudden ringing silence his footsteps fell, soft and sinister. No doubt this was the effect intended.

"How have you been enjoying your stay so far, Colonel?"

"I'm not impressed," Roy lied. "And wouldn't you say the décor is a bit lacking, Toby?"

"I'm surprised you can remember that name, considering how much you drank last night," the gentleman said, his voice drawing nearer as he spoke. Suddenly he was immediately behind Roy, leaning down to say in his ear, "Were you trying to forget something? You seemed desperate for distraction."

Roy tensed but refused to flinch away, even if he could feel the other's breath hissing on his neck and cheek. He said, "Is this where you try to pick me apart with your stunning insight into my character, based on one night of drinking together? Because I'm not _that_ desperate for distraction. Save your breath."

Roy didn't know if Neitherworth took exception to his tone or if his employer gave a signal Roy couldn't see, but the huge man lunged forward and drove his fist into Mustang's gut. The wind left Roy's lungs, and he saw stars pulsing in his field of vision. He hung painfully from the chains as he tried to catch his breath.

"I am not tolerant of insolence, dear pet, and you'd do well to remember that," the gentleman said, a cold edge to his words. "Though I suppose I must make allowances, as perhaps you are unfamiliar with addressing peers of the realm. When I speak to you, you may answer with 'Sir.' That should suit your military nature."

Roy, still coughing a bit, said with heavy sarcasm, "My apologies, _Sir_. I had no idea I was in such an _august_ presence."

"Of course not. Very few in this country have any idea of what it means to be a gentleman, including many who claim to be such," Sir said, utterly without irony.

The gentleman strode into Roy's line of sight. He examined him from shoes on up covetously, and said, "I suppose you are wondering why you are here. It is because you are alluring in many ways to as many people. I am quite sure that your young _coworker_ will hasten to your rescue. He shall not resist bait so exquisite, and in a matter of hours he will be in my possession as well."

Roy did not miss the implication nor the insinuation, but the latter would have been rather difficult. He put it aside as he thought furiously. So Edward hadn't been captured last night after all. Relief was tempered by a heavy churning in his gut that had nothing to do with his hangover. Knowing Edward, he would certainly attempt some kind of ill-planned rescue. Roy hoped the kid had enough sense to at least inform Hughes. Hell, it'd be better if Fullmetal didn't come at all, but there was little chance of that. As much as Edward might dislike him, the boy was too much of a hero for his own good.

"Does this news trouble you?" Sir asked, pacing around his prisoner. "I assure you, I bear no ill will to the lad. I wish to speak with him."

"I find that hard to believe," he replied. He refused to turn his head to follow the man's movement. "You sent that woman to attack him. Is that how 'peers of the realm' do business, beating up on kids?"

Sir continued to circle him. "I might ask you the same question in regards to the military in Ishbal."

He couldn't help the way he flinched at that, and Sir laughed mockingly behind him.

"Come now, don't be shy. You are the Flame Alchemist, hero of the Eastern Rebellion. Did you think you were unknown, after destroying a whole city in the name of our glorious state? Tell me, dear Colonel, how many died by your hand? How many of them were children?"

Roy said nothing. He told himself that this line of questioning was an obvious ploy. Sir was merely making assumptions as to what barbs would throw Roy off-guard, and it was no shot in the dark, either. Many soldiers who'd been in Ishbal had a trigger, something that would bring all the horror screaming back to the surface. It was safe to say without exaggeration that e_very_ veteran State Alchemist had it, though some worse than others. Armstrong had to be taken off active duty for a year following his return from the battlefield in order to collect himself. Roy had borne his own shell-shock slightly better, but sometimes there was nothing he could do about it. He recalled his battle assessment with Edward, and the all-too-vivid memory of the child with the gun – a gasp and a reaching hand, a snap and a burst of flame -

Dammit. He shook himself. He focused on the very real sensations of the manacles slowly cutting of circulation and the ache in his shoulders. The here and now. Focus on the here and now.

He said, "Now that's something you don't see every day. Morality from a serial killer who practices human alchemy."

"Ah, you do not disappoint me. Very astute observation, dear Colonel," Sir replied airily. "How do you find my work? For I should very much like to know what a State Alchemist has to say about it."

"I'm honored that such a high authority values my opinion. Though it is difficult to appreciate the nuances without closer study, I think it's safe to say that I find your work... repulsive," he pronounced, following it with a cold smirk of his own. "Sir."

Sir sighed as if mildly disappointed. "Insolence, again?"

Neitherworth stepped forward, and there was nothing Roy could really do about the beating he received. His lip split and bled from the first blow, and he had considerably more bruises by the time the ordeal ended. He panted and hung limply from his chains, sweating from pain despite the chill in the air. A slim, gloved hand caught his hair and yanked his head up. He grunted and was forced to look into Sir's face from not six inches away.

"You see, pet, I cannot have this disobedience."

Perhaps it was the jagged smile, or the flat, glassy look to the gentleman's fiery eyes, or the way he was far too close for comfort, but Roy was suddenly very nervous. His blood ran cold as he remembered the veiled comment Mercy had made not ten minutes ago. He flinched as Sir leaned in and licked blood from his lips.

Sir sighed again, this time closing his eyes as he savored the taste. He released Roy's hair and walked behind him again, without backing off an inch. Roy was aware of the man's presence, but he could feel no heat from his body. It was seven shades of unnerving, making it impossible to detect Sir's exact location. So when fingers as cold as the stone walls began to trace across his back and sides, he couldn't help the startled jerk that made his chains rattle ineffectually.

"Do you understand that you are helpless right now?" Sir said in a voice just above a whisper. He spoke right in Roy's ear. "That I could do _anything_ I wanted with you? That such is my prerogative?"

Roy 's skin crawled, his fears confirmed. "So you get off on rape."

"No, not anything so coarse as that," Sir replied leisurely, still caressing him. "It is more than enough to know that you _know_ I am capable, and you can do _nothing_ about it."

Neitherworth watched them with interest as Sir pressed his fingers down on a new welt. Roy tried to jerk away again, but the restraints were just the right length to restrict his movement severely. Plan B, which was kicking backwards at the man's legs, didn't pay off either. Roy had barely lifted his foot from the ground when Sir was already in front of him and out of range.

"You see? You cannot harm me. If you were not an alchemist, I wouldn't even bother with the chains," Sir declared. His eyes shone in the cold light that came from the electric bulbs fixed on the ceiling. He looked more drunk now than he had last night. He went on, becoming slightly more agitated as he spoke. "I could tear your throat out with my bare hands. I could drink your blood every day for the rest of your life. I could turn your corpse into one of my puppets."

"So why haven't you?" Roy asked, both to derail _that_ subject and because he was tired of listening to the man gloat.

Sir lifted one shoulder in an elegant half-shrug. "Call it my innate frugality of spirit. Why waste a perfect specimen? And besides, you are _quite_ alluring."

Roy shifted away from the caress that followed this assertion, scowling. "Fuck you."

"Yes, indeed. I _had_ thought you would comprehend your position. I am afraid that if you insist on being impertinent, I'll be forced to use more pleasant means to control your tongue," Sir said. His perpetual wintry smirk became just a shade lascivious. "I imagine your young lover will not be pleased if he finds you in such a situation."

"He's not my lover," Roy bit out, too quickly, too emphatically. He resisted compounding his blunder with a grimace. Dammit, that was too close to home, and he was vulnerable there. He hadn't had time to build a defense for this chink in his armor yet.

Sir raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You needn't be ashamed, pet. Neitherworth there likes 'em about Fullmetal's age – though he generally prefers _girls_."

The giant man's leer was hyena hungry, but there was disgust in his eyes when he looked at his captive. Roy glared with all his strength and said nothing. He would not allow himself to be judged by a piece of work like Neitherworth. He knew he wasn't like that. He _knew_ he wasn't. Meanwhile his emotions seethed and swirled with shame and guilt and anger, as well as a hot ember of hate with Sir's face on it.

"The papers have it that Fullmetal enlisted when he was only twelve years old," Sir went on, turning so Roy saw his refined profile. He steepled his hands in front of his lips and chuckled drolly. "My, that is simply too wicked, Colonel. First you made him a dog of the military, but _now_ you have made him your bitch. Was he a pleasure to break?"

"Fuck you," Roy snarled again, silently screaming at himself to calm down. He was giving too much away. He was playing right into the gentleman's gloved hands and they both knew it.

"Suddenly so eager? Does he not satisfy you? Or perhaps you only _want_ him, and he will not have you. But that is more pathetic, is it not? A handsome man, successful in his right, pining for the attentions of a half-grown boy."

"Shut up," he said, trying to convince himself he was not begging.

Sir's laugh was as full and bright and cold as a winter moon. "My pet, you make it so easy. I could play with you all day, but I have to prepare for our guest this evening." He began circling Roy again. "You are aware, I'm sure, of the legend that we children of the night can pass our gift to humans through an exchange of blood."

Roy's brain had stuck on the phrase 'pass our gift.' He sneered to cover his mounting alarm. "So you'll turn me into a vampire?"

"The actual 'turning' is debatable. This method is, I discovered, only an incomplete, temporary sort of metamorphosis. But I have refined it, and you shall have the honor of being the first test subject."

Roy was not impressed by this dubious honor, but Sir did not wait for his approval. Instead, he crossed to a nearby worktable, which was covered in an apparatus of tubes and funnels and beakers, all full of some dark red liquid that glowed softly. He picked up a glass and metal syringe and filled it from the farthest beaker.

"You see," he began in a lecturing tone, "Our blood is your blood. But it changes in our veins; it becomes semi-virulent. When reintroduced into a human subject, the transmogrified cells set about trying to devour the subject's original cells. Essentially, it is an infection with quite a few interesting side effects."

"What kind of 'side effects'?" Roy demanded. He stared at the full syringe with bitter dread seeping through his midsection.

"High fever, euphoria, but most notably there is bloodlust. And it is blood_lust_, as you'll find out," Sir replied mildly. He tapped the air bubbles out and approached. When he saw Roy's stony expression, he smiled again. "Do not worry so, Colonel. I have refined my blood to the point where it probably won't kill you. Provided, of course, that you consume enough human blood to satiate the bloodlust. If you do not, your body will start devouring itself.

"If you don't drink _any_ human blood, you will surely die within twenty-four hours," he added, and stuck the needle in the back of Roy's neck.

Mustang tensed and then shivered as the cold, alien liquid spread in his veins. A slow burning rose to his skin, as if his entire body was blushing. His heart slammed against his ribcage as an adrenaline-like rush hit him, and he _felt_ his pupils dilate. Sensation fell on him like a ton of bricks – the scent of chalk and old death permeated the room, the acrid stink of chemicals mingled with the metallic tang of blood. Colors he'd thought muted suddenly were overbright and gaudy. Even his skin became more sensitive; he could feel tiny scratches and scuffs on the inside of his manacles that had seemed flawlessly smooth three seconds ago. All this coupled with an inundation in an immediate ecstasy that was at least half sexual.

He held his body absolutely still, every muscle taut, as he fought for some kind of control. He heard a sharp hiss of breath, and realized it was his own. Fuck, this was bad, this was very bad. The worst was the disorder of his own mind. He couldn't think around the soaring thrill that filled him until he thought he'd burst open.

Hands skimmed over his too-hot flesh, and he instinctively arched into the contact. Sir laughed at him and continued. Roy bit back a groan and desperately tried to force his mind away from the disgusting, maddening reaction his body seemed all too willing to give. He bit his lower lip - and stopped as soon as he felt the tiny pin-pricks of suddenly pointed canines.

"Oh, God no, no," he muttered before he could censor himself.

"_Yes_," Sir purred in contradiction. "Do you feel it yet? The hunger? The impetus that drives the Nosferatu?"

"Nnnoo," Roy half-moaned.

With a final, lingering touch, Sir drew away. "You'll feel it soon enough. Neitherworth, come along. We have much to do, and less time to do it in."

"Yessir," Neitherworth said.

They left with surprisingly little ceremony. Roy watched them go through a haze of unfocused elation, then hung his head and waited for the telltale creepings of unnatural thirst.

---------------------------

Ed and Al stood in the hallway outside of Hughes' office as the afternoon began slipping away into dusk. They'd received a note from him around noon that was amazingly uninformative, merely saying that Hughes was busy and please stop by later. In the meantime, Al had rigorously grilled Ed about the details of the previous evening and the notes which he was carrying with him. By the time Al decided that enough was enough, Ed was so twitchy he felt like he was going to explode from inaction.

Thus, when he knocked, it came as a loud, rapid-fire hammering that didn't stop until the door was yanked open. A harried-looking Schezka blinked owlishly at them. Al bowed and chirruped a polite greeting.

"Oh, it's you guys," she said, relieved. "Thank God. The Lieutenant Colonel and Lieutenant Hawkeye are back there, and they've been arguing for an hour already. You'd better go referee."

"What are they fighting about?" Al asked.

"Well, I haven't been listening because I don't eavesdrop," she said loudly, then leaned in to whisper behind her hand, "But as far as I can tell, it's about Ed and the Colonel."

Ed clenched his jaw. His ears had perked up at the mention of a fight, and he could guess what it was about. Al glanced at him nervously and seemed about to say something, but he didn't wait to hear it. He strode past Schezka without a word, ignored Al's "Wait, Brother!" and made his way to the door that separated Hughes's private office from the anteroom. Raised voices could be heard beyond.

"-completely unnecessary risks. I want Colonel Mustang back just as much as you, but this would be playing right into the perpetrators' hands."

That was Hawkeye. Her speech was crisp and enunciated, her tone severe. Oh, she must be really pissed. The thought gave Ed some misgivings, and he paused with his hand hovering above the doorknob long enough to hear Hughes reply.

"Dammit, Riza, I don't see what choice we have. I care about Ed's safety as much as I do Elysia's, but he has proven himself capable in a lot more dangerous situations. He can handle this."

He couldn't have asked for a more perfect cue. He flung the door open. "You're damn right I can."

Hughes and Hawkeye stood on either side of the desk, and they turned at the interruption to gape at him. He crossed his arms stubbornly and glared.

"Edward," Hawkeye began, spearing him with her own irritated gaze. "You are interrupting a private conversation that does not concern you."

"Bull_shit. _I _heard_ you talking about me just now," Ed bristled. "So you can either keep talkin', or I'm outta here and I'll do things my way."

Hawkeye looked surprised, but she rallied to say, "Major Elric, you are out of line."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, _Lieutenant_, but I don't have to listen to you," he reminded her. She frowned elaborately and opened her mouth to respond, but Hughes beat her to it.

"Both of you, knock it off. Ed, don't pull rank on Lieutenant Hawkeye," the unshaven officer said with more sharpness than Ed was used to from him. "And Riza, we _were_ talking about him. It's only fair to let him have his say in the matter."

Abashed and a little ashamed at his behavior, Ed muttered, "Sorry, Lieutenant."

Hawkeye accepted it with a curt nod, and she subsided into one of the guest chairs with a brooding air. Now that he got a better look at her, she looked very tired and had flyaways spilling out of her usually perfect haristyle. Ed felt like even more of a heel – at least he'd gotten a few hours sleep. Hawkeye didn't look like she'd gotten any.

"Ed, sit down. You too, Al, I know you're out there. And Schezka, those bank account numbers won't trace themselves, will they?" Hughes said brusquely.

Al shut the door on Schezka's groaned affirmative. Ed took the seat next to Hawkeye, shooting her an apologetic look. She sighed and closed her eyes briefly, but when she opened them she looked as contrite as he was. Thus reconciled, Ed managed a small smile before turning back to Hughes.

"So, what's the problem? You want me to go rescue the Colonel?" he asked cockily.

"Let me bring you up to speed," Hughes said as he sat down. "First, we managed to get the records we needed from the photography shops, and we found our boy's name. But the name doesn't match the bank account he used to pay for both the camera and the hotel."

"So we still don't know who he is, or where to find him," Al said.

"Unfortunately, no. It's probably a dummy account, set up to throw us off the scent. We've busted enough embezzlers to know how to trace it to a source account, but that will take a lot more time than we have," Hughes said, his brows drawn down in frustration.

"So you want me to meet with the asshole tonight, right?" Ed asked.

"If there were any other option I thought would work, I wouldn't ask you," Hughes replied, his green eyes boring into Ed's. "Hawkeye is right when she says it's dangerous. We don't know how many people this guy has working with him, or what they're planning to do once they have you. Also, you have to realize that there is a chance that-"

"The Colonel doesn't have the common decency to keel over and save us the trouble," Ed declared, but his words were tempered by the unwavering surety in his tone. Which, considering his own doubts, was pretty impressive. "He'll live to letch another day."

Hughes pursed his lips but didn't refute it. "He'd better. He owes me drinks for the rest of my life. Covering this one up is going to be hell."

Ed frowned. "Why cover it up? I mean, vampires, yeah, don't want that getting out, but once we crack this one open, people are going to know about it. The disappearances have been too well-documented in the papers."

"Exactly why we need to cover it up," Hawkeye spoke up. She leaned forward in her chair. "If the police, or - God forbid - the reporters get involved, too many secrets will be thrust into the limelight. Not only will the Colonel's orientation be revealed, but more importantly, so will the fact that creatures like this _can_ exist, and that _alchemy_ lets them exist. There will be panic in the streets and a witch-hunt in the alchemical sect. With tensions in the city as high as they are, we'd have a full-blown riot on our hands."

"Can't we just cover up parts of it?" Al wondered. "I mean, can't we say that the Nosferatu are a cult that only _think_ they're vampires?"

Hughes started. "What did you just call them?"

"Oh, er. Brother stayed up late doing research," Al said, holding up his hands.

All eyes turned to Ed, who blanched.

"So, that book you left at the Colonel's helped?" Hawkeye asked.

Ed felt Hughes's gaze on him, but he didn't turn. Hughes couldn't know the identity of the book's real owner, or the Colonel would have Ed's ass. ...Bad thought, bad thought. Quick, answer the question.

"Yeah. I'd forgotten it in all the fuss, otherwise we might have known what to expect a lot sooner," Ed said glibly, and then launched into a brief but comprehensive explanation of Nosferatu.

When he finished, he sneaked a peak at Hughes. The man was stroking his beard. Hawkeye seemed rather dazed, and Ed didn't blame her. She was the most rational, down-to-earth person he knew. Talk about Homunculi and Nosferatu probably sounded like Cretan to her, especially since she had no background in alchemy.

"You know, we might be able to pull off the cult story," Hughes said at last. "I'll work on something, because it's obvious that we can't keep this up forever. In a few days, somebody's gonna wonder where Roy's gone."

"Haven't you reported that, either?" Al asked.

Hughes shook his head distractedly. "That would definitely attract attention we don't need. Roy's not the most popular man in Central, despite appearances to the contrary. He has a lot of enemies, and the powerful kind at that. The higher-ups would bog us down in red tape and we'd never get to him in time."

There was a disheartened pause after this, and Ed glanced out the window. Clouds were rolling in swiftly, bringing the onset of night with them. A chill wind rattled the glass panes, tossing the first thin flakes of snow like confetti. He shivered just thinking about going out into _that_. He realized with a rueful snort that for a moment he was more worried about the cold than the vampires.

"So what's the plan for tonight?" he asked. "You have one, right? 'Cause I got nothing."

"I'll tell you what I've got so far. Due to all the extenuating circumstances, I doubt it'll go off without a hitch, but it's loose enough that we can work with that," Hughes said. "First of all, can you hide this on you somewhere without damaging it or you?"

He pulled a small box from his desk drawer and opened it. He showed the contents to Ed. It was about the size of a large coin and a bit more because of the tiny antenna that stuck out of the metallic bauble. Hughes hit a recessed switch, and a tiny red light blinked on and off.

"It'd be best to put it somewhere protected. It's tough, but not that tough." Hughes handed it to Ed.

"Er, okay. I'll think of something." Ed pocketed it for the time being. "Why, what's it for?"

"It's a miniature radio transmitter. One of the newest gadgets the gang in research and development has cooked up. It's battery-powered and waterproof, and has a range of some dozen miles. It broadcasts a low-frequency radio signal that we can track with another new toy they gave us. This is how we'll find you once you leave," Hughes explained quickly. "With any luck, you'll lead us right to Roy."

"Then what happens?"

"Lieutenant Hawkeye and I will come in with the whole gang. People we know can keep their mouths shut. Meanwhile, you get to Roy and the two of you stay out of harm's way. Now that we know how to kill them, this will be a little easier," Hughes said. The grim set of his jaw did not suggest much optimism.

Ed wanted to argue about the staying out of harm's way bit, but he stopped to consider. First, Mustang probably won't be in any condition to go toe-to-toe with a vampire. Second, he himself didn't really want to have to kill anyone, even if they were inhuman, soulless monsters. Last but not least, the first two fights he'd had with them, he'd gotten his ass handed to him. But he had alchemy, and the only alchemist included in Hughes's posse was Armstrong.

"Fine," Ed grudgingly gave ground. "But I think they'll be suspicious if I just walk into their trap like that. They probably figured I'd tell someone else."

"Which is why I sent Ross and Bloche to scope out the address they gave you. It's in the warehouse district on the northeast side of town – plenty of places to hide in ambush. Here's what I say we do."

Ed listened to Hughes's plan. It fell into the 'just crazy enough to work' category. That kind of thing was right up Ed's alley. The only part he didn't know if he was comfortable about was leaving Al behind. He knew his little brother would worry himself sick, and _he_ wouldn't have the protection of a seven-foot hunk of metal. But there was no help for it, not if they wanted any chance to get Mustang back alive.

The rest of the evening was given over to the intensive preparation for their mission. Ed found himself saddled with the unenviable task of briefing the troops on the Nosferatu..

Havoc, Breda, Fuery, Falman, Armstrong, Ross, and Bloche crammed into Mustang's staff office. The mood in the room thickened with every tense second that passed. Hawkeye had dropped the bomb about Mustang's kidnapping earlier that day, and Ed saw the lust for vengeance sparking in the eyes of his unit. Ross and Bloche, not under the Colonel's command, did not take it as personally, but their faces were somber with the gravity of the situation.

Ed hovered just outside the door. Al noticed his dithering.

"What are you waiting for?" Al asked softly.

"Nothing. I'm just trying to think of the best way to phrase this crap. Havoc and Armstrong know a little bit about it, but the rest of them... Dammit, I can't just walk in and say vampires are real."

Al loomed with displeasure. "You're still worried about _that_? Isn't there more at stake now?"

"It's a legitimate scientific objection! Besides, if I put it like that, I'll get laughed out of the room," Ed hissed.

"You're just a big wuss."

"Am not! Shut up!"

"Come _on_, brother."

Ed harrumphed a response and then took a deep breath. Then he smiled with sudden amusement. "At _stake_? Did you really just say that?"

"Bro_ther_."

"Okay, okay. Here goes nothing."

They went into the staff room. What little talking there was ceased and all eyes focused on Ed. He swallowed hard.

"I think we all know why we're here," he stalled as he reorganized his thoughts.

"What's the lowdown on these guys, boss?" Havoc asked.

"Yeah," Breda growled from where he sat. He clenched his hands on the desk in front of him. "Hughes said you could tell us what we're gonna be up against."

"Does this mean alchemy is involved?" Fuery added.

Their words were right on each other's heels. Ed resisted a snide look in Fuery's direction. Ask a stupid question...

"You bet your ass alchemy's involved. And this is some deep shit, okay? This isn't fixing the radio and lighting some fireworks. Breathe a word of this to anyone, and you'd wind up dead or worse. And that's not _me_ threatening you," Ed snapped, grasping hard at the confidence of anger. "Not a word to anyone, for any reason. Am I clear?"

His sternness reigned in the overeager questions. His audience glanced around at one another. Havoc and Armstrong kept their eyes fixed on Ed. A murmur of assent rippled through the room.

"First off, these kidnappers... they're not human. They were at one point, but they transmuted themselves into something else."

Faces paled around the room, but only Armstrong truly comprehended the taboo. The big man leaned forward, looming at the back of the room.

"What do you mean, 'something else'? Just what _are_ we dealing with?" he asked.

"They're called Nosferatu," Ed answered with trepidation. He waited for someone to connect the dots.

"Hey. Wait. Isn't that another name for vampire?" Fuery queried, scratching his chin.

"Uh-huh," Al spoke up from over Ed's shoulder. Ed elbowed him.

"That's what I thought," Fuery said. Half a beat later, his eyes bugged comically. He slapped both hands on his desk and stood. "Vampires? We're up against _vampires_?"

Pandemonium broke out at this declaration. Breda, Fuery, and surprisingly, Falman took turns jabbering about garlic and holy water and virgins Ross and Bloche looked shell-shocked and stared at Ed like he'd grown two heads. Armstrong and Havoc, however, merely exchanged 'I knew it' glances.

"...And they'll drag you off screaming into the night and back to their crypt," Fuery ranted with gusto.

"And you can't kill 'em, not with bullets," Falman said.

"I'm telling you, silver bullets work on werewolves _and_ vampires," Breda said argumentatively.

"No, they don't," Fuery denied. "It's wooden stakes or nothing."

"I thought you had to behead them and burn them and scatter the ashes," Falman said rapidly.

"Wow. That's what you call _thorough_."

As the conversation degenerated, Ed began to twitch. Al noticed and took a prudent step back. Ed's temper was only more frayed than when he'd had his spat with Hawkeye, and they were just being _idiotic_. It was just so unfair. Here he had been at the mercy of these creatures twice, he knew what they could do. But he wasn't allowed to be afraid. He had to protect Al and solve the puzzle and save the fucking day. And these grown men were either truly terrified, or they were_ making fun of him._

His fuse ran out in a few seconds, and he exploded.

"Are you fucking finished, ladies?" Edward bellowed, slamming his palms down on the nearest desk, which happened to be Falman's. Now that he had their attention, he opened the collar of his jacket and showed them the bandage around his throat. "I didn't make this shit up."

The three men gaped. He glared at them each in turn. They turned red and dropped their eyes, chagrined.

"Now that I have your attention, we'll get on with the briefing," Ed said at last. He stood up straight and widened his stance to address the whole room. "As you three chuckleheads mentioned, the Nosferatu are badass motherfuckers. They're faster, they're stronger, and they're damn near immortal. And they have Colonel Mustang. If you're still interested in rescuing him, listen up. This shit could save your life."

Everyone in the room looked appropriately cowed and sober. After a moment, Fuery cautiously raised his hand. Ed pressed his lips together.

"Question, Fuery?"

"Er, yes."

"This had better be good," Ed warned and crossed his arms. "Well?"

Fuery formed a 't' with his index fingers. "Does this actually work?"

Ed's temples throbbed. It was going to be a long night.

-------------------------------

The ambush laid in wait when a fancy black car pulled to the curb outside the address from the note. Ed watched from his hiding place, squinting through the blowing snow. The car was all but invisible, save for the glowing patches of its headlights. Ed tensed and strained to hear over the wind.

A car door opened and slammed shut. The sound of snow compacting underfoot. A car door opened. And slammed shut. Ed squinted and barely made out two tall figures standing next to the car.

"It is nine o'clock, on the dot," a smooth, silky voice rang out, carrying remarkably well through the thick fall of flakes. "I wonder if our escort has arrived."

"Freeze!"

Hawkeye and Armstrong said it in unison, as if they'd practiced. They were up the street from Ed, on the other side of the car. So was the rest of their meager force, and right about now they should have been popping out with weapons drawn. Ed couldn't see, but he heard the sounds of guns being primed.

"Dear me, I do believe we've been stood up," the speaker said mildly and without surprise. "And here I trusted Fullmetal would have the sense not to involve anyone else. My note was rather explicit."

"Major Elric had no say in the matter," Hughes replied, his voice hard and cold as automail. "Where have you taken Colonel Mustang?"

"Did you really think I would _tell_ you? The military is getting naïve during peacetime," drawled the Nosferatu. "I'm afraid you won't find the Colonel unless you hand Fullmetal over to me."

"Naive? No, naïve would be taking you at your word," Hughes shot back. "Criminal deviants aren't known for holding up their end of the bargain. If we gave you Fullmetal, what guarantee can you give us that you'd return Mustang? What proof can you give us that Mustang is still alive?"Ed gritted his teeth at that, but it made sense to ask it.

The speaker gave a brief laugh. "So, you have come here to bargain. Do I look like a common peddler to you? I'm sorry, but without Fullmetal you have no leverage."

"I've got twenty soldiers with guns pointed right at your heart," Hughes said, a perfect smug bluff. "How's that for leverage?"

"You're lying. There are only eight, maybe nine of you at the most," was the unimpressed reply. "Foolish mortals. You should not have come here. None of you stand a chance against us."

Sensing that things would soon spin out of control, Ed chose this moment to do his part. He flung himself from his hiding space and transmuted his automail into a blade.

"Wanna bet?" he cried as he charged the two figures by the car.

They dodged effortlessly. Ed spun into a defensive stance as they landed several feet away. One was obviously the bronze of the operation. The other fit the description of Mustang's abductor right down to the fancy cravat. Ed didn't know whether to glare or sneer. What a smarmy creep.

"Fullmetal, stand down!" Hughes barked the order. "This is insubordination!"

"Yeah, I know," Ed replied without turning around. "And you can thank me later. Back off, Hughes. This is between him and me."

"I concur," the smooth-talking vampire broke in. His fiery eyes had not left Ed's for a second. "I believe we have much to discuss, Fullmetal Alchemist. Please join me in my car. It is much warmer there, I can assure you."

Ed finally settled on a sneer. "Huh, didn't know your kind felt the cold."

The vampire's lips curled in a wintry smile. "We don't. I ask as a courtesy."

_Smarmy_ creep. Ed cracked a dagger smile with hardened eyes. "Thanks. That's real gentlemanly of you."

"But of course," the creep said magnanimously. "Neitherworth, get the door for him."

His beefy sidekick, ever the strong, silent type, crunched obediently through snow and opened the rear passenger door with an expectant air.

"Fullmetal, this is a mistake," Hughes objected. He sounded honestly desperate. "Don't get in that car. That's a direct order."

Ed pretended not to hear him and followed the creep's grand gesture towards the still-running vehicle. But when he tried to step inside, Neitherworth's arm clamped on his shoulder like a vise. Ed snapped his eyes upwards with a fresh flash of anger. At least he hoped it looked like anger. From his angle, it felt more like fear.

"Fullmetal!"

"I'm sorry, Fullmetal, but you understand I must take one precaution before you come with me," the creep said as he approached languidly. He lowered his voice as he drew near, and Ed felt the full weight of his red gaze. "You see... I am aware of how you do what you do. Your special talent, the transmutations without circles. I'm not so foolish as to underestimate you, either. So I'm afraid I'll have to confiscate your automail arm for the time being."

Ed froze and stared in open shock. Of course, why hadn't he realized that before? The Nosferatu traded their soul to the Gate... of course they would remember that! Shit, not only were these things alchemists, they could all do alchemy without circles. And now he was being forced to abandon his ability to do so. Fuck!

"It is a non-negotiable requirement," the talkative vampire informed him, the barest hint of malice under the cordial politeness. "If you need assistance-"

"No," Ed interrupted. "I'll do it myself. No offense, but he isn't exactly Mr. Light Touch."

The creep chuckled, and Ed rolled his eyes at the sheer amount of smarm the creature oozed. Neitherworth released him. He felt almost ill as he undid his coat and jacket, shivering as his bare skin was exposed to the wet snow and chill wind.

"Edward! What are you doing?!"

Ed hesitated, his arm twisted awkwardly so he could reach the disconnect. They'd agreed not to use his given name unless it was a real command or question. Hughes was having doubts about this all. Ed knew he would, it was one of the things that made Hughes a good man. But now that Ed saw the creatures they were up against, the ones who held Mustang captive, the same ones who'd kidnapped and probably killed over a dozen other people... Well, there was no way Ed could leave it at that. He didn't know how he was gonna do it yet – when did he ever? - but he was going to save Mustang and stop these things from hurting more innocent people.

"You know, it's funny," he observed out loud. "I keep losing this arm. Winry's gonna kill me."

"Edward -"

Ed pulled the disengage. If Hughes finished his sentence, Ed didn't hear it. He tensed every muscle until the tide of pain ebbed enough for him to bend down to pick up his automail. He handed it to a haughtily pleased creep. Oh, he was very glad Hughes had convinced Al to stay behind at the office with Schezka, because there was no way Al was gonna be happy about this.

"Don't wait up, Hughes," he called over his shoulder as he shrugged his jacket and coat back on.

**TBC**

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All reviews are cherished and adored. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

Take me to your king  
I hear he's the man to see  
And I will cross his path

- _"My Firstborn for a Song"_ by Bell XIII

**Chapter Nine**

Lust and Gluttony watched the scene between the military pawns and the Nosferatu play out with bored attention. Wind and snow swirled around them in billows and gusts on their rooftop perch among the camouflage of gargoyles.

"Who puts gargoyles on a warehouse?" Lust wondered to herself. She glanced over at her partner.

He watched the Nosferatu with avid, piggy eyes and sucked on his fingers. "Can't I have just one now, Lust?"

"No. You'll get your chance soon enough," Lust said. She glanced back down, and her eyes widened. Fullmetal had just willingly parted with his right arm. She raised an eyebrow. "My, this certainly is interesting."

She got up and stretched as Fullmetal got in the car. The Nosferatu followed him in, to the distress of the nosy lieutenant-colonel who'd poked around after Lab Five. If he was involved, Lust would have to warn Pride. Gluttony lumbered to his feet, and they stood poised, waiting.

The car kicked up eddies of snow as it sped away, and when the clouds settled the rooftop was two figures - and one gargoyle - emptier.

----------------

The car sped away, leaving Hughes and the gang behind in the night. Ed tried to ignore the voice in his mind that sounded like Mustang telling him this was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever done. It was too late to turn back now, regardless.

Despite the danger, sitting in the warm, cushy car seat was a great relief. He tried not to sag too obviously. The pain of detaching automail was only minor compared to reconnection, but it still took a lot out of a guy. He figured he could at least relax physically while in the car - the creep wouldn't have bothered... er, well, _disarming_ him if they intended on killing him the first time they got him alone.

To keep himself occupied, he concentrated on the huge piece of the puzzle he'd missed. The Nosferatu could do alchemy without circles, just like him and Izumi. Or at least that's what the creep claimed. But if that was true, why hadn't either the boy or the fake delivery girl used alchemy? Well, Al couldn't do it, either. Maybe they _hadn't_ remembered the Gate? Ed glowered out the window and couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"Isn't it unusual for someone your age to have automail, Fullmetal?" the creep asked from opposite Ed on a bench seat. He sat with an imperiously correct posture and almost daintily crossed legs. He held Ed's arm like a riding crop across his knees. He slanted a knowing glance at Ed. "Almost as unusual as it is to be able to perform alchemy with no circles. Isn't that a coincidence?"

"Well, you've figured me out pretty well, haven't you?" Ed returned with sarcasm. "Kind of rude, considering you haven't even introduced yourself yet. What the fuck do you want with Mustang and me?"

The creep raised fine brows in shock, then brought them down into a knot. He slapped the automail against his palm with a rattle. "While I disapprove of your language, you are refreshingly blunt. Excuse me for my faux pas. You may call me 'sir'."

Ed was about to object that he didn't even call Mustang 'sir,' but he swallowed his words. No sense in picking a fight right now. Better to bide his time and find out as much as he could.

"All right. Where the hell is Mustang?" he said instead.

"We are on our way to see him as we speak," Sir said, a strange note in his voice. He looked smug somehow. "Your loyalty to him is touching. How long have you been under him?"

Ed frowned in confusion. "He's been my C.O. since the beginning. Not that it's your business. Why are you doing this?"

"I admit, at first I was simply trying to trim a loose end. But then I came to realize something," Sir paused, as if choosing his words carefully. Finally, he went on. "You are... intriguing. You are obviously very driven, very talented, and if you truly know what _we_ are, you are resourceful and intelligent to boot."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know. Sir," Ed tacked on. "Skip the flattery and get to the point."

"Very well." Sir sounded put out, but he continued, "I want you on my side. Join me, Fullmetal."

Ed sat up straight on his bench seat and stared. "Are you fucking serious?"

"I am in earnest, yes."

Ed barked a mirthless laugh. "You've got a pretty shitty way of asking for my help. Why should I join you?"

"For one, if you do not agree to at least hear me out and consider my offer, you will not be allowed to help your precious Colonel." Sir favored Ed with a smile that sparkled with too many points. Ed's stomach plummeted into his boots.

"What have you done to him?" he demanded. A new rush of fear flowed through him. All he could think about were the horrible descriptions in Hohenheim's journal of the victims, of soulless husks of people walking and craving human flesh. He hadn't told Hughes, or even Al, why he was so sure Mustang would be alive when he found him. There were things in alchemy worse than death.

"Nothing irreversible. Provided, of course, I have your assistance. Otherwise..." Sir trailed off with a nonchalant half-shrug.

Ed stared with rising anger. Damn, this guy was good. He could be bluffing, but he knew Ed wouldn't take that chance. Couldn't take that chance. Ed clenched his jaw. He started to cross his arms and remembered he only had one. He sank back in his seat and put his hand behind his head.

"Fine," he caved ungracefully. "I'm all ears, Sir. Lay it on me."

"Come now, don't be so skeptical," Sir coaxed. "I've found out a good deal of your exploits. You claim to be an 'alchemist of the people,' in an age where State Alchemists are anything but. You've seen first hand the damage this militant government has done to the people. Indeed, Fullmetal, you yourself seem to be a noble sort. Surely you've witnessed the corruption in the system and been infuriated by it."

The creep seemed to be gaining steam. He leaned forward as if confiding in Ed. "The man who calls himself Fuhrer King Bradley is nothing but a warmongering usurper. His reign has broken the sacred covenant between ruler and subjects. But what can one expect from a man of such... common stock. He is no more a king than Neitherworth is an upstanding citizen. No offense, my dear."

"None taken, boss," Neitherworth grunted from the driver's seat.

"Bradley has perverted life in our fine country for long enough," Sir went on. He gestured forcefully with Ed's automail. "It is time for the rightful ruler of Amestris to step forward and free the people from the clutches of a tyrant."

He found himself strangely disappointed. No, that wasn't it - he was _not surprised_. Edward forbore rolling his eyes. In a way this was good news. Ed just wished Sir would stop waving his arm around in front of his face like that. Prick didn't have to rub it in.

"Let me guess - you're the long-lost heir to the throne or something."

Sir preened and offered a proud, reserved smile. "Of course. There's no mistaking the old royal line of Amestris."

Bored. That was it. After all this, Ed had been expecting something of uncommon, apocalyptic magnitude on par with the Homunculi conspiracy. But it was just another ho-hum wannabe dictator. A terrorist like Bald, who had gotten lucky. How had he discovered how to make the arrays? He must have found and decoded at least some of the Ruby Tablet. Where? How? Did it even matter now that the damage had been done?

Ed glowered. Well, he had to give the guy credit - Sir was certainly ambitious. Even Ed hadn't given up his soul for his obsessions.

The funny thing was, Sir had no idea how recycled - if worded fancier than most - his little speech sounded. However, now that Ed knew the kind of crazy he was dealing with, he could go ahead with his plan. He would have to be careful. Sir seemed as sharp as he was smarmy. Ed was wary, but not as intimidated as he had been twenty minutes ago. He had experience dealing with Sir's ilk.

"Should I call you 'Your Majesty?'" Ed asked dryly.

"I would not deter you."

"Huh. What proof do you have? And what would make you a better leader? So far, your intentions don't seem much better than the Fuhrer's," Ed asked, but he modulated his voice so it was less strident. As if he was interested against his will.

"Ah, such a simple, childlike conscience you have," Sir sighed wistfully. "But I'm afraid the fate of a country in one's hands brings with it more complexity. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

"Sacrifice," Ed sneered. "Like how you sacrificed your soul?"

"Yes. I parted with it to gain immortality. How better to serve my people than to always watch over them?" Sir's tone began as sanctimonious, but soon descended to something dark and driven. His bright eyes sliced a path into Ed's. "And when I have the Philosopher's Stone - a goal that parallels your own - none shall dare interfere with my country. We will have peace. It will be a golden age for Amestris."

Ed hesitated. Emphasis on the crazy. A man who took sacrifice so cavalierly would have no qualms creating the Philosopher's Stone. He resisted another sneer - and this creature dared called him childish. If nothing else, Ed had learned a sizable respect for sacrifice. Sir seemed to pull himself together, and he raised a polite eyebrow.

Ed turned to face the window. "So what's your plan then? You can't expect me to commit to help you unless I know what you want me to do."

"A judicious question," Sir allowed with a sniff. He leaned back, gloved fingertips laced together archly. "The first step is to gather a force to stage a coup. Needless to say, overthrowing a seasoned military would be difficult without a large, multi-centralized army. However, if done correctly, a small brigade would be enough to secure Central. And if Central and its Fuhrer fall, it would only be a matter of time before the rest of Amestris crumbles."

"A small force?" Ed looked at him sidelong. "How many of your loyal subjects are there? So far, I've only seen three. Even you Nosferatu couldn't take on the whole military base."

"On the contrary, dear boy. We are young yet, and have not realized our full potential. But we cannot wait decades for change, so we must find other means. I will tell you more of that subject later," Sir replied with an enigmatic smirk.

"So you're gonna ambush the Fuhrer, plunging Central into chaos. Then what? Do you think they're just going to let you - reclaim your rightful throne?" Ed restrained the sarcasm as best he could.

"They would if I had the support of the people. And who better to win them over for me than the Fullmetal Alchemist?" Sir's smirk blossomed into a closed-lipped smile.

"So that's where I fit into your little plan. I support you with your coup, and the people trust you," Ed thought out loud. He frowned suddenly, finally turning back to face Sir fully. "You're going to turn me into a vampire, too!"

"Perhaps. It would be your decision," Sir said soothingly. "Though I am confident that once you witness our strengths, you will not consider it so appalling."

The car chose this moment to slow and halt smoothly. Neitherworth turned off the engine, and Sir smirked.

"Ah. We have arrived."

They exited the car. In the murky, snowy darkness, Ed only had a vague impression of the mansion. The snow cloaked the building, and it tapered out of sight on either side of the grand, carved entrance The effect was eerie, leaving behind a sense of vastness in the blackened windows like eyes. They didn't linger on the doorstep. Neitherworth took his arm and pulled him through a set of ornate, aged wooden doors. Ghoulish gargoyle faces leered from the knockers as he passed.

The doors closed behind him with a groan and a boom.

----------------

"More gargoyles. Figures."

Lust stood on the roof of the ancestral mansion, observing the stonework guardians with a jaded eye. You've seen one gargoyle, you've seen 'em all.

"_Now_ can I eat the suckers?" Gluttony whined, tugging at her skirt as if she were his mother.

"Not yet. We have to go tell Pride where to find his playthings," she said patiently. Something prickled her senses, and she looked over her shoulder. She made out a vague silhouette of the roof, but she could not pinpoint what had made her turn.

"What is it, Lust?"

She snorted to herself and turned back around. She was being paranoid. "Nothing. Let's get going."

----------------

Hughes, Hawkeye, and Armstrong squeezed into the armored van with the conspicuous spinning antenna on the roof. Fuery, who manned a small control panel on the right side of the vehicle, listened with an intent expression to a set of headphones.

"Signal has stopped moving," he said. "Direction east-northeast. Signal strength nominal. Distance approximately six miles."

"East-northeast, eh?" Hughes raised a hand to scratch his beard. "And six miles is out of the city limits, isn't it?"

"Central is surrounded by the old estates of the aristocracy," Hawkeye pointed out.

"So if our perp is of noble heritage, it would make sense. Armstrong, what can you tell us?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Armstrong admitted. "The northeast was where most of the old blood settled, but they had their titles stripped and their lands seized with the rise of military power. No one lived there when I was a boy."

"Then it's perfect - out of the way, unpopulated, and the military wouldn't suspect it in their own backyard. You got a lock on the signal still, Fuery?" Hughes asked rapidly.

"Yes, sir," Fuery said promptly. "It's holding stable at its last position."

"Lieutenant Ross, you heard the man - east-northeast, and step on it," ordered Hughes. As the van lurched into motion, he picked up the two-way radio speaker. "Patch me through to Lieutenant Havoc."

Fuery flipped a switch. As Hughes updated Havoc - who drove another vehicle with Breda, Bloche, Falman, and medical supplies - Hawkeye claimed the front passenger's seat. She took out her sidearm and checked her clip.

"I bet you're glad we're finally on our way," Ross remarked softly.

"That's an understatement," Hawkeye replied. "We need to go faster."

Ross obligingly sped up. After a pause she said, "Can you believe that kid? What does he hope to prove by doing this? It's as if he doesn't even appreciate the danger he's headed into."

"He appreciates it," Hawkeye said evenly. "He just doesn't care. He doesn't see fear as a reason to hesitate. Unfortunately, he feels the same way about common sense."

She stole a glance over her shoulder at Hughes. The proud father had practically adopted the Elric brothers as an extension of his family. Tension lined his face, making him seem years older since Ed pulled his supremely stupid act of bravery.

"Apparently, so do we," Ross added, a gallows smile on her face. "We're the ones who're gonna have to save the day."

Hawkeye slammed the clip in place. "You got that right."

----------------

The hall Ed found himself in was large and lavish, but poorly kept. The fine mosaic floor was dusty and littered with leaves. Cobwebs hung from the rafters and enveloped the sconces, where smoky torches struggled to illuminate the cavernous space. The opposite side of the room was given over to a sweeping double-staricase. The room was dominated by a huge portrait of a walrus-mustached man in the court regalia of over half a century ago. The man's expression was so austere and stuffy, Ed wanted to pull faces at him for the principle of the thing.

"Welcome to my abode, Fullmetal Alchemist Edward Elric," Sir said from next to Ed. He indicated the painting - with his own limb, after having left Ed's automail carelessly in his car. "That is my grandfather, the last High Duke of the old stock. The military outlawed rank not gained in the armed forces before my father inherited the title."

"Just a duke? Not a king?" Ed asked with transparent innocence.

Sir drew himself up and narrowed his eyes. He said in dangerous, soft tones, "Those of the direct line of the royal family were murdered centuries ago. I am their closest living descendant, and my lineage is noble and pure. The royal blood _cannot_ be diluted."

Good thing, too, what with all the common blood he'd sucked. Ed had to bite his tongue to keep that thought from slipping out. He only had to play along with Sir until he got Mustang alone. And the sooner he did that, the better.

"I didn't come here to see your family tree. Take me to Mustang," he said instead.

"How single-minded of you. But perhaps not unexpected. Very well," Sire said. "Neitherworth."

"Yessir?"

"See to it that Kerwin does his chores. I'll escort Fullmetal. Meet me at the lab," Sir commanded.

"Yessir." Neitherworth loped off into one of the darkened doorways off to the right.

"Shall we?" Sir took Edward by his remaining arm and pulled him to the left. With his free hand, he hefted a heavy brass torch handle from a sconce. They started into another hall and soon were encapsulated in darkness.

The weak bubble of torchlight did little more than add a living dimension to the shadows. They fractured, flickered, and faded into an impenatrable black sea on either side. The musty atmosphere closed heavily around Ed, pressing on his chest, and clung to miasma-like to his skin and clothes. An unfamiliar prickle of claustrophobia played across his mind. It felt like he was walking right into the belly of the beast, like this building would devour him if he gave it half a chance. It reminded him of Lab Five. This was a place of death and perverted alchemy, and it _knew_ it. Reveled in it.

Ed swallowed uneasily and told himself he was imagining things. As if a _place_ could think for itself, what a stupid idea. He knew he was being ridiculous. Something in him whispered, _still_. He couldn't shake it.

Frustrated, he ignored his anxiety. He had more important problems to worry about.

Ed asked sullenly, "What have you done with Mustang?"

"He is more or less unharmed. He is no doubt waiting for you," Sir replied without answering. "I think you are ready to hear some of the specifics of those alternate methods of gathering sufficient manpower. You have made it clear that you know what we are - you have read the Ruby Tablet."

"Yeah," Ed lied. Close enough, anyway. He didn't like the way this conversation was starting.

"You know then that there are ways to gain obedient servants."

"You mean the... zombies, or whatever," he hazarded. Definitely didn't like this.

"Zombie. Such an uncouth word," Sir said disdainfully. "For a while, I thought my puppets would be enough. That was the reason for the kidnappings... well, I also have four mouths to feed. However, it takes too long to drain a body of all its blood energy - the process takes days. By the time we amassed enough of them, half would already be too rotten to do any good in a battle."

The picture this description called up left Ed pale and queasy. On the bright side, it meant the Colonel couldn't have been turned into a cannibalistic corpse. It also meant he didn't need to worry about searching for other surviving victims. He inhaled a shaky breath.

"So that's what you did to all those people. That's why they never found any bodies."

"My boy, you are as intelligent as they say," Sir told him with thinly veiled patronization. "A good many of them are still wandering about the house. Don't go looking for one, though. They have standing orders to kill outsiders who have no escort."

Ed tasted bile in his throat. That was so wrong. Insane. All thirteen people, not only ripped away from their loved ones and killed, but experimented upon. The very nature of their beings was violated for days before death, and even then there was no peace or rest waiting for them. They'd wander until their bodies became too dessicated to move, always hunting fresh human meat. Ed had to stem the urge to shudder. No one deserved that.

"At any rate," Sir went on. "I am working on a way to imbue human subjects with Nosferatu attributes. Our strength, our speed, our stamina. With these advantages, we could recruit volunteers easily."

Ed swallowed, rallying enough to say, "You'd have a lot of competition with that many vampires running around."

"But they would not be _true_ Nosferatu. Only slightly better than humans, and not a threat. If I completely turned any of them, they would be under my direct control," Sir said.

"What do you mean, your direct control?" There was a disturbing surety in the way he'd said it. Ed refrained from leaping to conclusions.

"Precisely what it sounds like. My children must obey my will. It is part of the exchange I made with the Gate when I... adopted them," Sir finished with a half-shrug.

Ed could not keep himself from gaping at that. The Gate could even strip away a person's individual _will_? Sir seemed to take the unnatural obedience completely for granted. As if it was his divine right to be obeyed, just because he was some king's umpty-great grandnephew. Ed marveled at the creep's self-centered myopia, then something even more dumbfounding struck him.

"Are you telling me _you_ traded their souls to the Gate?" His voice bounced off the walls.

"How else were they to join me? None of them are alchemists, they could not transmute themselves." Sir gazed amusedly down at him and smirked. "Is it really so astonishing?"

"Most times, the Gate charges higher rates," Ed retorted. "Most people don't survive their first attempt, much less four."

"Perhaps the Gate gains more if the sacrifice is willing. My children all gave their consent, and the Gate was more than satisfied with their souls. It tampered with nothing else," Sir said.

"That's stupid," Ed said, brows furrowing.

"You're the expert, State Alchemist," Sir said, all poise and superiority complex.

They started down a wide spiral staircase, and Ed fell silent as he mulled over the ramifications. Well, at least now he knew the other three Nosferatu could not transmute at the drop of a hat. Alchemy was not entirely learned, and the innate talent was something you had to be born with. He doubted the Gate could change a person _that_ much. What a boon for Sir - none of his flunkies would go against his will, and none of them knew how to use the condensing arrays that posed a threat.

He wanted to dismiss Sir's other assertion, but something made him reconsider. Perhaps it was the fact that if Sir's claims were false, he probably wouldn't be standing there claiming them. Ed scowled. _If the sacrifice is willing..._ The phrase echoed in his mind, and goosebumps rose on his arm beneath his coat.

He did not have time to examine the odd reaction, though, because Sir was speaking again. Ed wasn't surprised. Bad guys loved to hear the sound of their own voices.

"I am close to a breakthrough in my research. Towards that purpose, your Colonel underwent a new treatment of mine," he was saying, and Ed's attention ceased wandering entirely. A cold wash of dread spilled down his back.

"What did you do to him?" he hissed.

"Why not ask him yourself?" Sir replied maddeningly.

"Dammit, I'm asking _you_!"

Ed's last nerve snapped. He jerked his arm in Sir's grasp, but could not pull away. He would have continued ranting, but his voice died out in a surprised, pained yelp as Sir twisted his arm negligently and slammed him up against the wall.

"My, you are quite strong for a boy your age," Sir murmured coyly. "I begin to know what he sees in you. Such passion is a wonderful thing to behold."

"What are you talking about?" Ed demanded, angry and utterly confused.

Sir twisted his arm a fraction more, and Ed felt his bones creak. Shit, Sir was going to break his arm, and then he really would be defenseless.

"You misunderstand something, Fullmetal. You think I am _asking_ for your help. It is not a request. You'd best learn some manners, or the experience will be quite unpleasant for you . Ask me again." He reinforced the command with a threatening squeeze.

"What are you talking about... _Sir?_" Ed spat.

"That's better." Sir spoke chidingly, as if to an unruly child. It only served to infuriate Ed further, but he stopped struggling. Sir relaxed his hold and they continued down the hall. "But you really have no reason to play dumb, Fullmetal. He all but confessed it to me."

That comment clued Ed in that this was probably a new mind-game. Sir seemed to be enjoying himself too much for it not to be. He swallowed a frustrated groan. Well, it took two to play mind-games, and Ed wasn't interested.

"Yeah, whatever. Sir. I don't care. Just take me to the Colonel."

For some reason, this drew a chuckle from the creep. "Does he _make_ you call him that?"

What the fuck kind of idiotic question was that? It was Mustang's _rank_; of course the man wanted Ed to call him by it. He had a feeling that telling Sir he preferred to call Mustang a bastard wouldn't help matters any.

He was spared the trouble of answering, however. At that moment, Neitherworth's bulk materialized in the meager torchlight. His eyes caught it and reflected it like a cat's. As they approached, he stopped leaning on the metal door.

"Did you find Kerwin?" Sir asked.

"Yeah, an' gave 'im your orders," Neitherworth said. "He hopped to right quick."

"Excellent. Now, then. Be a good man and open the door."

The man complied, and bluish-white electric light drowned out the shadows. Sir pulled Ed through the threshold and paused, as if to allow Ed to take in the scene. Probably was trying to impress him. Ed rolled his eyes. You've seen one mad alchemist's playground, you've seen 'em all. Thus he was not distracted by the exotic transmutation circles, and he zeroed in on the familiar figure chained up across the room.

"Mustang!"

----------------

"I'm so glad you could make it on such short notice," the Fuhrer said, shaking the man's hand as he ushered him into his office. "Sorry to bother you so late. Please, sit."

"It is never a bother to be of assistance to you, Fuhrer, sir," came the oily reply.

As the two men pulled out their seats to sit, the phone on the Fuhrer's desk rang. He picked it up but did not say anything into it. In a moment, he hung up and sank heavily into his chair, a grim expression on his face.

"That was the intelligence scout, confirming the report I was given earlier. Lieutenant Colonel, how soon can you have your unit ready to mobilize?" he asked solemnly.

"I took the liberty of putting my staff on alert as soon as I got your phone call, sir," Archer said. His small, reptilian eyes brightened with interest. "They can be ready to move out at a moment's notice. What has happened, Fuhrer, sir?"

"A dangerous rebel sect we've been tracking has taken drastic action. They've got two of our personnel hostage. We've just found where our boys are being held, and we need to get them out."

"Of course, sir," Archer said briskly. "Who are the poor bastards?"

"Major Edward Elric and Colonel Roy Mustang. Perhaps you've heard of them."

His eyes widened briefly. "We've... met."

"We suspect the perpetrators are in fact the kidnappers that have been plaguing the city," the Fuhrer continued. "What's more, now there's reason to believe outlawed alchemical practices are involved as well. I want detailed notations made of everything you find, so keep your men on a tight leash. We're going to try and keep the lid on this one if we can. You and your men are sworn to secrecy. On this matter, you report to me alone."

"Yes, sir," Archer said. If one watched his face, one could practically see the gears of war turning in his head.

The Fuhrer stood again. "You'd best get started. Miss Douglas will brief you on the particulars."

Archer stood and saluted. "Yes, sir. If there's nothing else, I'll notify the troops right away."

"Right. Remember, consider everything you find there hostile, and eliminate it with extreme prejudice. Dismissed."

"Sir!" He turned crisply on his heel. His eyes gleamed as he crossed to door.

"Oh, and Lieutenant Colonel?" the Fuhrer called. Archer paused in the doorway, looking back at the Fuhrer's pokerfaced expression. "Naturally you realize that excludes the hostages."

Archer stiffened and some of the excited flush receded from his cheeks. "Naturally, sir."

"Good, good. Carry on, then."

----------------

Ed froze for a split second. Then relief at the sight of the man swelled his confidence. On impulse he threw all his weight behind his motion and wrenched his arm free. Sir staggered. Ed ran, his heart rising to his throat. Mustang did not give any sign that he had heard him shout - was he unconscious?

"Mustang!" he said again as skidded to a halt in front of him.

Mustang dangled from the chains that stretched his arms above his head, which hung low and faced the flooor. He swung lightly, the toes of his shoes dragging on the stone. His skin shone with sweat, even though it was cold enough in the dungeon room to see their breath on the air. Ed scowled. He glanced around Mustang. Sir and Neitherworth had not moved an inch to stop him. What the...?

"Come on, bastard," Ed said. He reached his hand out to shake Mustang's shoulder. "Lazy colonel, making me come all this wa-"

Mustang surged to life. His head snapped up and his teeth snapped shut with a loud clack. He leaned away from Ed's hand, eyes squeezed tight shut. Ed's eyes fairly bugged out of his head when he saw the miniature vampire fangs peaking from between Mustang's lips.

"Don't touch me!" Mustang gasped out.

Ed dropped his hand, too stunned to do anything else. Mustang took a deep breath as if steeling himself, and then he opened his eyes to meet Ed's bewildered gaze. Ed did not recoil, but it was a near thing. Mustang's eyes - they weren't black anymore, not wholly black. Instead , bright red threaded through his irises like a spiderwebbed shatter-pattern around the bullet-holes of his enlarged pupils. Ed didn't know what Mustang saw in his expression, but he turned his face away again.

"Stay back, Fullmetal," he said, his lips catching on his new canines. "I - They're trying to make me one of them."

"Not quite, but close enough," Sir said as he drew near. He came to stand next to Ed and clamped a hand on his flesh shoulder.

Ed clenched his hand so tight his knuckles cracked. It wasn't like he hadn't been prepared for this. Sir's hints had been rather blatant. Still, he couldn't stop staring at Mustang. He noticed several things. First of all, the Colonel appeared completely unharmed - even the bite mark that Ed knew he'd gotten was healed over without a scar. Next he noticed that what he'd initially thought to be a bruise was actually a blurred tattoo. On Mustang's left pectoral muscle, standing out in stark contrast to his winter-pale skin, flamed a red mark: an ankh with a crooked 'J' in the center of the loop.

"If he's not really a vampire, why does he have the mark of Thoth?" Ed demanded.

"His mark is faint, a mere echo of a true Nosferatu's. Though the 'J' surprises me. I had not expected his mark to be so fitting. A wild card indeed," Sir snorted with amusement.

Ed ground his teeth, more than fed up with cryptic responses. "You said this was temporary. That I could help him."

"Yes. The success of the experiment hinges on your help, my boy," Sir said.

"How do you define success?"

"The Colonel survives the night," Sir replied baldly. He gave Ed's shoulder a squeeze. "Are you willing to assist?"

Ed was watching Mustang. He saw the man flinch at Sir's words. Uh-oh. Mustang knew something already, and Ed would bet that this 'experiment' wasn't going to be pretty.

He swallowed and grimly asked, "What do I have to do?"

----------------

Kerwin stood on the roof of the mansion, brushing flakes of snow from his hair and where it gathered on his shoulders. One thing about not having any body heat of your own meant that you didn't get wet in a blizzard, but you might get buried.

He squinted into the night, not even sure what he was out here for. At least back on the streets he'd understood his boss's orders. The gang needed food, so he told you to steal. The gang needed a place to drink, so you threatened the serving girls. The boss wanted revenge, so you fought with the other gang. There was none of this 'My dear, stand on the roof for a few hours, and if anyone should come to talk to you, give them this message for me.'

He hunkered down into his thin jacket out of habit. Who would be out in this? Who would be on a _roof_ in the middle of nowhere in this? And the message didn't even make much sense to Kerwin. Still, he daren't go back inside. The master would not be pleased. They finally had Fullmetal; his mistake was finally wiped off the record. Kerwin did not relish the idea of pissing the master off again so soon. He wondered when it would be okay to leave, if no one showed up.

The soft crunch of snow behind him made him whirl as fast as he could, but he was not fast enough. Something slammed into his right shoulder - _through_ his shoulder. He stared stupidly at the object as the world around him tilted sideways. He landed in a drift, literally pinned down.

The creature on top of him glimmmered and flickered, changing appearance as he watched. Stony, pebbled skin melted away, leaving an ageless, androgynous youth with wild hair and slitted eyes.The creature's left arm from the shoulder down was not flesh, but an incredibly sharp spike that Kerwin felt drive through his lung and down to bite into the thick shingles under the snow.

"What have we here?" the creature asked tauntingly. "Is it a lost little leech?"

Kerwin gurgled, coughed, and replied, "I think... I have a me-message... for you."

The creature's face twitched - surprise? curiosity? disgust? - and he twisted his blade-like arm. Kerwin felt his lung shred, and he howled with pain. Blood oozed out of him, black and freezing near instantly.

"For me, you say? Well, hurry up. Spit it out, kid."

Kerwin spat blood. This thing liked causing pain almost as much as Neitherworth. Given that he was familiar with this kind of abuse, he took the situation more or less in stride.

He said, wheezing, "My master has no quarrel with you and your kin. In fact, he has a peace offering. If you hear him out, he'll give you Fullmetal."

He'd cut out a lot of flattery and flowery acknowledgements. Under the circumstances, he'd much rather get to the point.

The creature stared at him, his expression unreadable. Kerwin coughed up more blood. Finally, the creature smiled and removed his arm from Kerwin's shoulder. It shimmered and turned into a flesh hand. Kerwin felt his wounds begin to close - he had not fed in over a week, and the process was sluggish.

"You'll give me Fullmetal, huh?" the creature said. He sounded amused. "That's quite a generous offer."

Kerwin nodded his agreement emphatically. "If you're interested, I'll show you inside. My master has everything prepared."

The creature snorted and moved as if to get off of him, then paused. He snorted again, and reached down. His fingers fisted in Kerwin's ragged shirt and pulled it apart. Kerwin's eyes grew round with fear - Neitherworth didn't play _this_ game - and he squirmed weakly. His wounds had cost him too much energy.

Deceptively light, cool fingers traced the ankh over his heart.

"A diamond," the creature mused. "What's that supposed to mean? The other one had a heart."

"I d-don't kn-know," Kerwin stuttered. "Doesn't m-mean anything."

"Shows what you know," the creature sneered. Without warning, his fingers transformed into a spike.

Kerwin didn't have time to gasp before the creature drove it through his chest, through his heart. The force of it knocked the breath from him. He couldn't even scream when the creature's arm reverted to its true state and ripped his heart from his chest. His body twitched and writhed, and then lay still.

Envy stood up, both arms bloodied to the elbow. He held up the heart, which still beat furiously. It felt like a trapped bird in his hands. He smiled a broad, vicious, hungry smile. He brought the heart to his lips and sank pointed teeth in, like he was eating an apple.

"'We'll give you Fullmetal,' he says," Envy muttered with his mouth full. Blood and minute red stones stuck to his face. "What a crock. I don't need gifts. I'll _take_ what I want."

**TBC**  



	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Sorry this chapter took so damn long. I had it almost finished, topping out at fifteen pages, several months go. Then I got a new computer. In the process of transferring files, wouldn't you know that the ONLY file that got corrupted was this chapter. I lost the whole thing, and I got so discouraged I got writer's block like whoa.

And THEN when I started writing it again, there were... new developments. --;; I ended up having to re-plot the rest of the fic like twice. Dammit. Which, incidentally lowers the rating of the fic again. XD;;;;

And a totally random note, I HATE formatting restrictions. Scene breaks are here, but they look so shitty.

At any rate, it's finally here, and longer than the original. XD;; Hope you all like it.

* * *

I feel too close to be a-losing touch  
By givin' in, what am I givin' up?  
Am I losin' way too much? 

"_California Waiting"_ by Kings of Leon

**Chapter Ten**

Envy had just finished sucking his fingers clean when the low rumble of engines became audible over the rushing of the wind. He frowned at the interruption, and carefully crept to the edge of the roof. The snowfall had dropped off a bit now, and Envy crouched low to remain hidden. He already knew what he would see. Pride would send someone, from what Lust had let drop before she'd gone about her way. Sure enough, the military transports' lumpy shapes loomed over the hill.

One of them had an odd whirling dish on top of it. Envy recoiled with a sneer. The fucking pipsqueak's friends had beat Pride's goons. Fuck if he knew how.

Anger unfurled within him, bright and hot. The tang of blood and red stones still filled his mouth, and he felt wild with it. He didn't know who he was more furious with – Pride, for being incompetent and forbidding Envy's interference as if he had the right, or the meddlesome midget who managed to skew their best-laid plans every time. Damn them both. The other Homunculi were fools. Look at the mess they were making of a simple pack of Nosferatu, whose leader obviously wasn't playing with a full deck. And their own master grew impatient, yet all of them insisted that the Elrics would somehow miraculously strap on a pair and transmute the Stone for them.

"Fuck that," Envy growled through clenched teeth, unable to stem the urge to pound the roof with his fist. The rotting stonework cracked and snow avalanched down. "Shit!"

He bounded back, hoping the approaching vehicles hadn't seen that. He couldn't afford to leave any of them alive, if they had. His presence here had to remain hidden. Even if none of the other Homunculi intimidated him, they could make things... difficult.

He had already made a decision by coming here. He wasn't going to follow Pride's orders anymore. Pride was, aptly, too full of himself to admit he'd made a mistake, and Envy wouldn't be a part of that ship when it sank. Besides, the pipsqueak needed to be taken care of. He'd long outlived any uses they might have had for him, and he was an inconvenience. Troublesome. _Lucky_. If something wasn't done about him now, he might start asking questions, and someone with answers might hear. Then the whole grand design would come crashing down about their ears.

Not that Envy would admit that the elder Elric was that talented. But Fullmetal's damnable knack for being in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time, coupled with his nambie-pambie _ethics _and his insistence on standing up for them... He wasn't a real threat. Yet. And Envy would make sure he stayed that way.

Besides, he hated Nosferatu. Two birds with one stone... One stone...A sudden, stark, _bloodthirsty_ grin sliced from his lips. Yes, perhaps. Perhaps. The beginnings of a plan crystallized on the surface of his mind. With a smug chuckle, he turned for the roof access door and transformed. In a drift, Kerwin's dead eyes stared to the sky as _Kerwin_ slipped inside.

Hughes and Hawkeye stepped out of their transport almost before Ross brought it to a complete halt.

"Search and secure a perimeter," Hughes ordered.

Breda and Falman had been similarly prepared, and they hit the ground running. Ross, Bloch, and Fuery quickly followed. They tromped purposefully through the drifts, locating the perpetrators' car in the glare of headlights. Headlights? Hughes frowned. But Havoc and Ross had both cut their engines – and the lights. Speaking of, Havoc was running towards him, a fresh cigarette burning and dangling from his lips.

"Hughes! Tried to get you on the radio, but this weather's playin' hell with our transmitter. We have company," Havoc said in clipped tones as he approached, finishing when he came up level with the other two.

"More Nosferatu?" Hawkeye asked without batting an eye.

Havoc grimaced. "Who else would it be? No one else even knows we're here, right?"

Hughes scowled darkly. They wouldn't let these guys get too much of a drop on them. He turned back to the others.

"Fall back! Double-time, people, " he shouted. "Form a defensive fire line, wait for my command!"

As the last stragglers fell into crouches and leveled their rifles, the approaching vehicles roared into the yard. There were three of them, and they formed a loose semi-circle around the transports. As the newcomers slammed to an impressively simultaneous halt, large swathes of snow went flying. Hughes squinted into the glaring lights, unable to see, but able to hear as whoever they were disembarked with rapidity. He was about to give the order when someone beat him to the punch.

"In the name of Fuhrer King Bradley, drop your weapons and put your hands where we can see them!" a male voice shouted into the sudden, tense silence.

Hughes was too tense to twitch, but his face gave away his shock. "Do it."

"Sir, it could be a trick," Hawkeye said, not looking at him. She held her rifle in an unwavering grip.

"Lieutenant, stand down!" Hughes ordered. He tossed his rifle and held up his hands. "It's no trick. I recognize him."

Grudgingly, the company followed suit. A silhouette in a black military trench coat walked out in front of the headlights of the center vehicle. The man approach, smug footfalls crunching in the snow.

"Well, this is quite a surprise, Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. I think you have some explaining to do."

"Lieutenant Colonel Archer," Hughes acknowledged in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

He couldn't speak for everyone, but he admitted at least _he_ was pretty goddamn surprised. His brain was whirring. The military should have had no knowledge of this incident. Hughes knew and trusted all of the individuals on his team. While he had to allow a chance for betrayal, he also had to admit it was pretty damn unlikely. Besides, more to the point: _they_ hadn't known where they were going to end up. Even if someone had tried to radio directions as they were driving, there had been a few times when they'd had to backtrack. If another force had been following them from the get-go, their paths would have crossed.

So that begged the question, _how_?

He'd figure it out later. Right now, their nearest enemy happened to be a more mundane kind of bloodsucker.

Undead or not – and in Hughes's mind, there was room for debate on that subject – there was no doubt that Archer was a threat. They had worked in the Intelligence Office together for years, though never closely. For which Hughes was grateful. The man was a notorious war-monger with solely political aims. His professional standing was comparable to Hughes's own, excepting the fact that Archer's power was ill-gotten.

He traded in favors and secrets, probably did more than dabble in blackmail, and thrived on nepotism. The fact he had no conscience whatsoever made him an uneasy ally and a formidable enemy. It also didn't help that their completely divergent personalities and personal philosophies had made them loathe the sight of each other from the day they met.

And Hughes had just let _Archer_ catch him red-handed. He would have to tread very carefully indeed.

"What are you doing here, Hughes?" Archer ask, finally drawing near enough not to speak in a shout. "You are interfering with a sting operation. By all rights, I should consider you terrorists just by being here."

"I can vouch for the fact we are not terrorists, Lieutenant Colonel," Hughes said evenly. "We have reason to believe two officers, Colonel Mustang and Major Elric, are being held hostage inside. We came to retrieve them."

"By whose authority?" Archer asked. He was clearly enjoying having the upper hand. His chill blue eyes had not dropped from Hughes's shocked green ones. Hughes didn't think the man had even blinked.

"My own," he replied.

Hawkeye stepped forward, snapping a brisk, formal salute. They looked at her as she spoke. "Sir! Permission to speak, sir!"

"Granted," Hughes and Archer said in unison. Their eyes snapped back to each other, glares intensified.

"Lieutenant Colonel Hughes agreed to lead a recovery team at the request of Colonel Mustang's unit, sir. We had no knowledge of a sting operation already underway," Hawkeye reported..

"You should have been more thorough," Archer said. "At any rate, you are hereby required to stand down."

Hughes's eyebrows rose. "Is that an order, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Yes, it is, Lieutenant Colonel. _Your_ authority has been overruled. I'm here by the Fuhrer's," Archer said with obvious relish. "I'm in charge of the official search and rescue of the Colonel and the Major."

Hughes resisted a disdainful sniff. Archer was letting his need to gloat loosen his tongue. It was a total rookie mistake for anyone who called himself an intelligence officer. But Hughes filed away the tidbit, unsettled and suspicious.

The Fuhrer had been thrown in the mix the last time, too, but Lab Five had been a huge conspiracy within the highest ranks of the Amestrian military. It was no wonder the Fuhrer would have a hand in its unraveling. But this... Why would the Fuhrer himself get involved in something as comparatively minor as a kidnapping? How had he found Ed and Roy before they had? Hell, how did he know those two _had_ been kidnapped?

Hughes's suspicions coalesced into something firmer. His instinct told him that the game he played now was a deep one indeed.

He scowled and slowly said, "I see. In that case, we will withdraw."

Hawkeye inhaled a sharp breath, but he shot her a glance before she could object. The others couldn't be happy with him, either. Especially Ross, Bloche, and Armstrong. They knew exactly what Archer was like. He just hoped that they wouldn't overreact and do something foolish.

"Very well," Archer said with a snakelike smile. Bastard thought he'd got one over on 'em.

He paused, taking in the lot of them and all their mutinous glares. His eyes hesitated on Havoc, who had not ditched his cigarette. Havoc's eyes were glazed over in a bland, insolent look, one that had gotten him officially reprimanded on several occasions.. He took a deep drag, then exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. Archer's face darkened with disgust and he turned to shout over his shoulder.

"Stand down!" He slid a look at Hughes. "These reprobates aren't a threat."

Hughes heard the company stir at this and knew he had to get them out of here. Tension hung on the air thicker than the snowfall. It would only take some small excuse. Worse, he knew if someone pulled something, he wouldn't lift a finger to stop them.

"Will that be all, Archer?"

"For the moment. We may need to question you on your involvement later," came the snide reply. "You are all remanded to your vehicles until further notice. Dismissed."

No one moved. Hughes couldn't help the way he smirked into Archer's displeased expression.

"You heard the man," he said. "Move out."

They began to leave, picking up their rifles as they went. They passed Archer almost single file. Breda's jaw jutted belligerently, and Havoc turned away and spat out his cigarette butt as he walked by. Hughes waited until Hawkeye followed them with cold precision before he hefted his own weapon. As he moved to go by, Archer stepped to block his path.

"Is there something else?" Hughes demanded. Screw formalities, he had other things to worry about now.

"I hope you filed a request for a field-testing permit. That equipment is still experimental," Archer said. He jerked his chin in the direction of the tracking van.

"Of course." He had filed the request before he'd given Ed the tracking device. He'd even received the go-ahead before they'd left in the van. "Was that all? Because I was under the impression you have a rescue operation to run."

Thin lips drew back in a sneer. "That is none of your concern."

"None of my concern? _You_ may not have friends, Archer, but I damn well do. Two of them are being held hostage in that mansion. Even if I'm on the sidelines, I'd say I'm still _concerned_."

"I won't tolerate your interference. This one is mine."

Hughes's fuse ignited. "Dammit, this isn't about who gets the glory! This is about getting the Colonel and Fullmetal out alive. Can you do that, Archer? Because the papers won't call you a hero if the only neck you save is your own.."

Archer stiffened. His face became devoid of emotion, his pale skin washed stark white where the glaring headlights touched it. Sharp shadows turned his countenance into a mask, something inhuman.

"I will accomplish my mission objectives," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Stay out of my way, Hughes."

"Gladly."

They spun on their heels and stormed away from each other. The short walk back to the vans did little to calm Hughes down. Though he kept his face passably impassive, he was seething inside. He hated the fact that he had to leave the rescue of his best friend and one of the boys he thought of as surrogate sons to _that_ piece of work. He hated being outmaneuvered, too, and he certainly hated the gleam in Archer's eye when he'd spoken of 'questioning.'

The gang was huddled together, muttering to each other. As Hughes approached, they fell silent. Yeah, he knewthat wascoming.

But instead of accusing him of turning coward, they parted enough to admit him inside the screen of bodies. Fuery stood in the middle of the group, gingerly holding something in his hands for inspection.

It was Ed's automail arm.

Seeing it was like getting sucker punched in the gut. The rage curdled into sick worry and doubt. Grimly, Hughes stepped forward to take it from Fuery's unresisting fingers. It was much heavier than it looked, and even through his gloves he felt how bitterly cold it was.

"Where did you find it?" he asked, his voice very low.

"In the car the suspects left parked here," Fuery replied unhappily.

Hughes's hands clenched around Ed's automail. This was the hardest decision he'd made in his career. One one hand, there was everything Roy had been working for; on the other, Roy and Edward. He couldn't protect them all this time.

"There is something else going on here. Until we know what it is, we're laying low."

There was a rush of half-whispered objections, because anything louder might have resulted in attracting the attention of Archer's troops.

"Enough!" he said. "If we act now, we risk everything. We've got a real mess on our hands. But Archer –"

"You can't seriously trust that son of a bitch to get them out safely?!" Ross snarled under her breath.

"Lieutenant Ross, you are out of line," Hughes reprimanded, but he felt more tired than angry. "He is acting on the Fuhrer's orders. We know he is... competent, if his methods leave a lot lacking. Besides, you've all forgotten something."

"And that would be?" It was the first time Hawkeye had spoken. She must be really pissed.

"This is Flame and Fullmetal we're dealing with," he reminded them softly. "If anyone has a fighting chance at pulling through all this, it's those two. We have to have faith in their abilities now."

There wasn't much anyone could say to that – objecting would be disloyal. Hughes was glad. Grasping at straws was bad enough without someone ripping them out of your hands.

* * *

The heightened senses took quite some getting used to, but Roy had nothing else to occupy him. He hung limply from his shackle wrists, staring at the huge, alien array. Its lines were drawn in spirals and curves. An optical illusion made it seem as if it was swirling lazily. Over the past few hours, his enhanced vision had mapped it out and memorized it. When he closed his eyes, it lingered behind his eyelids.

The ecstasy from earlier had mercifully dulled to a low-grade fuzziness around the edges of his consciousness. At least he wasn't moaning from the _air_ brushing against his sensitized skin anymore. Instead, he was starting to notice a strange tightening in his veins..

"_Do you feel it yet? The hunger?"_

Sir's words echoed mockingly in his head. He swallowed with a parched throat. God forgive him, he felt it. He tried not to think of it, but it bubbled up through the cracks in his mind like tar. It felt like a basic instinct, the same as the need for food, or water, or sex, and so strong he couldn't lie to himself about it. It coiled within him, predatory and insidious, waiting for him to drop his guard.

Which he would not. He wouldn't let that snobbish psychopath get the best of him, bizarre drugs or no. Besides, he would bet that Sir didn't intend on letting... _forcing_ him to... feed. This was probably all some mind-game he was playing before he killed Roy. Or simply watched him die, in the name of research. It seemed to be fittingly sadistic.

What really concerned him was what the vampire intended for Edward. Another experiment like this one? But no, that couldn't be. If all Sir wanted was a couple more human lab rats, there was easier prey. Besides, Sir had said he wanted to speak with the boy. For what purpose, Roy had no idea, but he doubted it would be a pleasant little sit-down with tea and cake.

Just then, his unnaturally keen ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the hall outside. Muffled voices followed, too distorted by distance for Roy to make out the words. But he recognized the throaty tenor immediately.

Soon the great metal door screeched open. The familiar, yet impossibly more detailed scent of smoke and flame reached him first, followed by the smell of metal, leather, and something light and unique that Roy couldn't quite describe. He knew without seeing that Edward had arrived.

"Mustang!"

A sudden shame came upon Roy then, blindsiding him with its intensity. He didn't trust himself to answer the cry.

Sounds of a scuffle, running footsteps that only stopped once they'd reached him. "Mustang!"

He couldn't bring himself to look up. He didn't want Edward to see him this way. He didn't want to have to see disgust and pity in the boy's eyes, didn't want to have to face the boy when he was this... defeated. Worse, the hunger gnawing within him redoubled now that Edward had drawn near. Something in his scent had Roy's mouth watering as the craving inside waxed more powerful.

"Come on, bastard. Lazy colonel, making me come all this wa–"

Roy heard the movement, felt the air shift in front of Edward's hand, and his body reacted by some imposed instinct. For a split second, he made to spring towards what his senses were telling him was _prey_. Horrified, he caught himself in the nick of time. He clamped down on the urge and threw himself as far from Edward as his restraints allowed.

"Don't touch me," he managed to grit out. Sternly he marshaled himself into something resembling control. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.

Edward stood in front of him, his expression utterly shocked. Roy would have wondered what he looked like to get that reaction, but he had his own surprise to digest. The boy's automail arm was conspicuously absent. As if the situation needed to get bleaker. He turned away again, now that Edward had gotten the point.

"Stay back, Fullmetal," he said dully. "I – They're trying to make me one of them."

"Not quite, but close enough," Sir admitted, sidling up smugly.

Roy felt a black fury rise in him, and he watched Sir carefully from the corners of his eyes. The aristocrat had one hand on Edward's shoulder, a possessive, claiming grasp. The vampiric instinct and his natural protective streak both raised their hackles, though for different reasons – all of which he didn't want to analyze. Roy fought not to give his inner turmoil away.

"You said this was temporary. That I could help him," Ed was saying warily.

"Yes," Sir said. He sounded almost cheerful. "The success of the experiment hinges on your help, my boy."

Roy felt his stomach flip with sudden misgiving. No, he couldn't possibly mean what Roy thought he meant.

"How do you define success?"

"The Colonel survives the night," came the simple reply. "Are you willing to assist?"

He flinched, a pool of horror formed inside him. He knew what Sir was up to. How high was he, that he hadn't seen this coming? But Edward wasn't stupid, of course he would refuse. He _had_ to refuse. It probably wouldn't matter either way, at this point, but Edward had to know better than to go along with anything this creature suggested.

"What do I have to do?"

Roy could have groaned at the boy's grimly determined tone. Didn't the little fool know what kind of danger he was setting himself up for?

Sir chuckled. His hand on Edward's shoulder slid to gently stroke the bandages at the boy's collar. Fullmetal stiffened, aware of the implicit threat or unnerved by the invasion.

"It won't take much," Sir said. His fingers toyed with the bindings. "A simple enough task. In fact, all you must do is stand still, if you wish. The Colonel will do the rest. Won't you, dear pet?"

Roy stared at the floor. His jaw muscles ached from clenching. "No. I won't."

"But you must," Sir replied lightly. "You know what will happen if you insist on being stubborn. The longer you wait, the worse the experience will be."

"I _won't,_" Roy repeated roughly.

Sir sniffed. "No? A pity."

The hand on Edward's shoulder moved in a blur of motion and Roy looked up. Sir twisted Edward's remaining arm hard behind him. The boy gave a short, sharp cry of startled pain. Roy forgot about the chains and lunged forward.

"Fullmetal!"

"Let go, you bas–nng!" Edward broke off when Sir tightened his hold.

Sir's other hand busily unraveled the bandage still around the boy's neck. Edward's eyes finally widened in comprehension, his breath catching audibly. Then, cursing fluently, he began to squirm like a wildcat. He kicked Sir's shin with his automail leg. Sir, who hadn't bothered to dodge, did not flinch. He smiled widely into Roy's impotent anger.

"You see? If you don't,_ I _will. You have a choice not only for yourself, but for your _subordinate_."

"Get your filthy hands off him!" Roy found himself snarling before he could think.

Sir just smirked and dropped the bandage. Then his hand circled Edward's throat at the joint of jaw and neck. Whatever curse forming on his lips, it died with a strangled gasp. Sir forced Edward to turn his head, exposing the unmarred right side of his neck. The boy's restricted breath carried an involuntary whine of fear.

"I thought you didn't want him," Sir taunted. He didn't drop his eyes from Roy as he lowered his face towards Edward's neck. "Since there's no changing your mind..."

Roy, for his part, was watching Edward. His face was reddening from lack of oxygen, and his eyelids were squeezed tightly shut as he struggled to breathe. As if he felt Roy's gaze, he chose this moment to open his eyes, which were filled with desperate terror and pleading. Their gazes locked. Something inside Roy lit on fire and crumbled to ashes in the same heartbeat.

He couldn't let this happen. He _wouldn't_ let this happen. He wouldn't sit idly by and watch Edward be victimized by this _thing_. Even if it meant Roy would have to victimize him himself. Part of him was thrilled with the idea, his veins humming in anticipation. He felt sick with self-loathing. It seemed Sir had finally succeeded where the military had failed, and made Roy Mustang into a monster.

"Stop!" the cry tore from his throat.

"What was that, pet?"

He hung his head in defeat. Dully, he repeated through numb lips, "Stop. I'll do it. Just let him go."

Sir chuckled infuriatingly. He released Edward's neck, and the boy began to cough and gasp. His questions started before he'd gotten his breath back.

"B-bite me? Why? What the hell did you–"

"I injected him with the blood of the Nosferatu. Currently, it is devouring him from the inside out," Sir replied with cocky ease. "In order to counteract the effects, he must drink human blood. If left unchecked, he has less than a day to live."

"You bastard. You _monster_," Edward rasped. Roy couldn't resist a cringe at that. "And this is supposed to make me want to help you?"

"You should be glad I'm giving you the chance to save him. Or will you refuse? Do you care so little for him?"

"Who are you calling so short even his emotions are stunted?!" If Roy hadn't been distracted by the situation at hand, he might have noticed the frantic note in the automatic screen of anger.

Sir's peals of laughter bounced off the scrawled-on walls. "Dear boy, you are too amusing. But I am afraid we must get down to business."

He pushed Edward a step closer to Roy, who stiffened. Once again, the predatory instinct swam to the fore of his mind, but equally strong was his desire not to harm Edward, to not give in to this horrible thirst, to remain _human_. He knew he'd agreed to it already, there was no sense drawing it out. Still, his muscles tensed all over, and he refused to move or look at the boy. Either option could prove his undoing.

"Master! Master!"

The tension of the moment froze at the interloping voice – young, boyish. A new scent Roy did not recognize reached him. Sir firmed his grip on Edward's arm and looked over Roy's shoulder to where the laboratory door must still be gaping open

"What is the matter, Kerwin?" Sir began in a low, icy tone. "I thought I'd given you a task to see to."

Roy could not see the boy as his back was towards the door, but the panic was naked in his tone. "Master, I was, I swear! I was doing like you said, sir. But – but the military is here!"

Roy looked up with eyes widened. Edward now stood directly in front of him. They looked at each other, and Edward's lip twitched in the barest hint of a smirk.

Relief hit him like a sledgehammer. Fullmetal hadn't been as stupidly brave as he'd feared and had brought reinforcements. New resolve bolstered Roy into straightening his spine. He wasn't a monster yet. He would resist this long enough to get them out of here. They were going to be rescued – provided they could survive long enough on their own.

* * *

Ed barely listened as the boy he recognized as his attacker from the first night described the situation to Sir, too focused on not freaking the fuck out. His left arm ached and burned from the prolonged restraint behind his back, and he knew there would be a collar of bruises from where Sir had nearly strangled him. 

That wasn't why he was freaking out. He was still reeling from the fact that Mustang was a Nosferatu. Or _practically_ a Nosferatu. And this whole biting thing. When the woman had bitten him, it'd been bad enough thinking she was just drinking his blood. Knowing now that it was his soul energy that would be drained, the prospect of being bitten held even less allure.

But if there was Nosferatu blood in Mustang's system – and there had to be, for these kinds of side effects – that meant that the colonel was dying as surely as from poison. With nothing else to satisfy it, the foreign blood drained the man of his own soul's energy, like a candle burning at both ends. Mustang was still staring at him, his fucked-up eyes oddly glassy. Ed frowned. There was no way of knowing how long the man had been under the influence of the Nosferatu blood. How long before it took a further toll?

Ed didn't know why his chest ached like someone had just kicked him in the ribs. He shouldn't be so surprised. It wasn't like Sir hadn't been dropping hints like crazy on their long walk here. But even had he suspected, what could he have done?

For that matter, what was he supposed to do _now_? He'd found Mustang, but he'd quickly lost almost every single advantage he'd had. At least Hughes had finally got here. They might not have found him at all if Ed hadn't transmuted the transmitter into his automail arm, and the automail hadn't got let in the car outside. If it had still been attached to Ed, he was sure that the subterranean dungeon with its thick stone walls would have blocked the signal.

And Ed still had a couple of tricks up his sleeve. It was just a matter of getting Sir off of him and distracted long enough to pull them off.

"Seal or block all the entrances to the lower levels. Muster all my puppets for whatever defense they can provide," Sir ordered Neitherworth, who now stood next to Kerwin. "Kerwin, collect Mercy and inform her of the situation, if she doesn't know already. Find out how many we're up against and what their positions are. I'll deal with these two. Go."

"Yes, sir," the two Nosferatu chorused.

As they hurried off, Sir turned his attention back to his captives. His grip on Ed's arm, already painful, tightened further.

"I don't know how you managed to give away our location to your friends," he said in a flatly calm tone. "Suffice to say that you will suffer for this. But thankfully I have the perfect place to put you where you won't be able to cause any trouble."

Hope and dread mixed queasily in Ed's stomach. "Oh yeah? Where's that?"

"The pit."

"Sounds cozy."

"I'm going to let you go. One move towards an array, and I'll snap your neck. Then your precious Colonel will have a slow, painful death to look forward to," Sir said, as if Ed needed a reminder.

"Yeah, yeah," Ed said as Sir let go. He rotated his shoulder a couple of times, then stuck his hand into the pocket of his coat. He posed non-threateningly. "I'll be good."

Honestly, he had been expecting to be searched by Neitherworth at the door. The fact that he hadn't been, that they'd assumed he was harmless without his automail, said a lot about Sir's ignorance of State Alchemists. As if Ed wouldn't come with some kind of back-up. While Sir took Mustang down from the chains, Ed wiggled his hand into an ignition cloth glove he'd brought with him. Granted, it had been intended for Mustang, and Ed didn't know the fine tuning of fire alchemy.

Whatever. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

Mustang swayed on his feet as if he was drunk, and Sir manhandled him to a nearby worktable. Ed looked on as the man was bound again with a pair of manacles behind his back.

"You will carry the torch," Sir said tersely to Ed, not releasing Mustang's bound wrists. He did something that Ed couldn't see but that elicited a grunt of pain from Mustang. "Do not forget I have the upper hand."

Grinding his teeth, Ed stepped around the arrays on the floor with exaggerated care. Sir and Mustang passed him at the door as he pulled the unwieldy torch from the sconce. Luckily, the glove he'd pulled on was the right-handed one, so the array was hidden from view in his palm.

Sir began to lead them deeper into the dungeon. The stone walls here were looking more and more ancient the further they went, and the hall got smaller, with rotten wooden cell doors spaced every few feet along either side. Ed wondered just how old this part of the mansion was. It looked like a hold-over from medieval times.

Ed watched for an opening. He couldn't snap because of the torch, but that also meant he didn't have to. Unfortunately, Sir was keeping Mustang too close to get a clear shot at him. Fuck, how did Mustang do it? Not the at the Colonel was precise, but if Ed wasn't careful he could blow all of them to smithereens. Well, he and Mustang at least. Sir might survive, being undead and all. Come to think of it, Mustang had healed like a Nosferatu would, so he would probably survive, too. If this idea blew up in their faces, Ed was the only one with slim chances.

A gallows grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. As if he would die and leave Al all alone.

Sir brought them to a lit alcove with three hallways branching off into darkness. There was even enough room for Ed to dodge. He took a deep breath and aimed as best as he could.

"Get down!" he shouted to Mustang as he activated the array.

The explosion slammed Ed against the wall and knocked his breath from his body. The torch had splintered out of his hand from the blast, and a ball of fire roared outwards. It caught Sir as he was whirling. Ed just made out his astounded expression before his face started to melt. Sir screamed horribly and was knocked off his feet. He skidded across the ground, windmilling on the ancient cobbled floor, and laid still.

Acrid smoke hazed the air. It stank of burnt hair and flesh. Ed tried not to gag as he regained his breath. He stayed low and called out above the ringing in his ears.

"Mustang? You with me?" Ed had seen him twist in Sir's grip before the dazzlingly bright flames had obscured his vision. A sudden, sick stab of panic. What if Mustang hadn't been able to get out of the way in time? What if the Nosferatu healing ability wasn't strong enough?

But an eternity of a second later, a cough and gravelly reply, "I'm h-here."

Ed released a breath shakily. He made his way towards the sound of the Colonel's voice, bothered by how reassured he was. But the meager sense of security was washed away once he came close enough to see the damage Mustang had taken.

Mustang's back was to him, and his entire left side was a tattered mass of charred flesh. Ed froze, horrified at the damage he'd caused. But even as he watched, Mustang's skin healed over, seamless, scarless. Then a violent tremor racked the man's body. Without quite consciously meaning to, Ed found himself kneeling down next to him.

"Mustang, shit, I'm sorry, I – oh, man, I thought you'd be able to dodge in time and, ah _fuck_ –" Ed found himself babbling. "A-are you okay?"

"Not really," Mustang said weakly, and Ed knew it had to be bad for him to admit it. "Next time, leave the fireworks to the professionals, Fullmetal."

"No argument here," Ed replied.

He looked anxiously toward the smoldering heap of limbs a few yards away. If Mustang had healed that fast, what was taking Sir so long? Then it struck him. Sir, however powerful, only had a limited amount of soul energy. If his body became too damaged, likely the healing process would be slower. Since Mustang's own living blood was what fueled it, the Nosferatu blood in him could just burn right through however much energy it needed.

Which, ultimately, only advanced the poison's progression. Fuck, why hadn't he thought of this before?

"Can you stand?" he asked. They didn't have much time, and his actions had just sped the clock.

A heavy breath. "Yeah."

Mustang used his hands to lever himself up slowly. The chain holding the manacles together had luckily snapped in the fracas, and the uneven ends rattled as he moved. Ed moved to steady him when he swayed, but the man flinched away from his hand. Ed looked at him oddly, and noticed that the red in his eyes had grown much more prominent. That had to be a bad sign.

"Do you know the way out of here?" Mustang asked.

"I think I can find it. But we need to get back to that lab first," Ed said, forcing himself to focus. He needed more information. There could even be an antidote for Mustang there.

"Is that Hughes outside?"

"Yeah, him and the whole gang. You're pretty popular for a bastard," Ed said. He pucked another torch from the wall and handed it to Roy. Then he held out his hand, displaying the glove. "I think you forgot something last night, by the way."

Mustang tugged the loose, overlarge glove from Ed's fingers and gave him a reproachful look. "I think you forgot something more important than a glove. Like your _hand_."

Ed kindly overlooked the way Mustang's own hand shook. "So? I still kicked that guy's ass. And I'm saving yours, so quit bitching."

They began to backtrack quickly. The typical back-and-forth of their insults seemed to be helping Mustang get his equilibrium back. Already he was acting more the bastard colonel than a broken man in chains. Ed felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He began to think that maybe they'd get out of this yet.

* * *

Archer didn't like to command from a bunker, as many of his contemporaries did. It was not because of some sense of nobility, the pride of past generals who laid their life on the line alongside their men. A battle simply was more exciting in the midst. He was a man of few pleasures, so he felt justified in indulging this one, especially since it often meant he was quicker to respond to new developments. 

A stairwell full of zombies, for example.

His sidearm was in his hands, and he spent the clip into something that might have at one point been a young woman. The thing sprayed foul-smelling chunks when the bullets hit it, driving it back. But still it snarled and came at him. The last bullet hit it square between the eyes, and its head exploded like an overripe pumpkin. Finally, it fell, joining the other three corpses on the ancient steps.

Silence followed, broken by the ragged, fear-soaked breathing of his search team.

"Baker, status report," Archer barked with remarkable composure.

"S-sir. All clear ahead for now, but they got Kaufman," Major Baker replied. In the sharp lighting of their flashlights, the Major's gore-spattered face was pale.

Warrant Officer Kaufman had been in the lead. The first creature had gotten the drop on him before the rest of them were near enough. Archer tried not to look at the body. He was not a squeamish man in any sense of the word, but Kaufman looked _chewed_.

The Fuhrer was right. These terrorists really _were_ monsters.

His men were making slow progress to begin with. The sheer size of the building had made it necessary to split into four teams to cover more ground. So far, no one had radioed to tell him they'd found the hostages. Neither had they radioed to tell him of any other threats.

"We've got to be on the right path," Archer said to his three remaining men. "They wouldn't station a guard if there wasn't something they don't want us to find. Onwards, men."

"Sir!" they chorused. Queasy as they may be, they were all his own, hand-picked for their blind loyalty and respect for the chain of command.

As they pressed on, Archer reflected. The loss of Kaufman was a pity, but it was practically a military tradition, letting the sheep find the landmines. Archer knew he'd have no trouble finding a replacement among the new recruits on the base.

But if he had been thinking, he would have let Hughes go in first.

* * *

The echoes of gunfire could be heard all through the dungeon, but that was not what roused Sir. 

_Power_. Red and lush and burning, it flooded him, filled him, spilled over across his skin. The wounds Fullmetal had inflicted healed over with a tingling rush, and Sir writhed as the power continued to build. He felt a low, sweet ecstasy grow within him, hinting at something marvelous and terrible, something like the Gate itself -

And then it stopped, sudden enough to feel like a door slammed in his face. He moaned softly in protest.

"Was it good for you, too?"

Sir frowned at the voice, low but androgynous. He didn't recognize it. Warily, he opened his eyes.

He was still in the dimly lit alcove. The smoke had cleared visually, but the stink of it still burned Sir's sensitive nostrils. His fine clothes were disgusting, burnt rags, soaked through with his blood in places. It hadn't had time to dry, though, so he couldn't have been unconscious for long.

Kneeling next to him was Kerwin. Sir stared and looked around. That hadn't been Kerwin's voice he'd heard, and that smug look certainly wasn't one Kerwin had ever worn in his presence.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Kerwin sat back on his heels, evidently pleased by this question. The aristocrat felt as if he'd passed some kind of test. Then there was a quick shimmer of alchemy, revealing a completely different person where Kerwin had been. Sir didn't waste time by becoming alarmed. Obviously, this newcomer had done something to help him. And based on Mercy's descriptions, he already knew who this person was.

"Homunculus," he whispered, awed in spite of himself.

"Someone give the man a prize," the homunculus said with an expression loosely related to a smile. "Guilty as charged."

"Have you come for Fullmetal?" Sir asked. He sat up cautiously. The creature made no attempt to stop him.

"Maybe. Not that it's any of your business. You're going to need a new message boy. The last one didn't hold up so well."

He sighed. Of course Kerwin had bungled it, the stupid boy. Sir lamented aloud, "It is so difficult to find good help these days. If not Fullmetal, why are you here?"

"You're after the Philosopher's Stone, right? Well, I have decided to give you the chance of a lifetime." The homuculus smirked condescendingly.

He wanted to bristle, wanted to wipe that snidely superior look off the creature's face. He was _royalty_. Why did no one show the proper respect? Sir bit his tongue, though. That taste of power, the ambrosia that was the only thing sweeter than fresh blood, was enough to remind him that he had not yet achieved his ultimate goal. If this homunculus was going to offer a way to attain it, Sir was prepared to tolerate a little impropriety.

"By all means, do go on."

* * *

Ed and Roy reached the lab just as the first shots rang out. They were muffled and distant, but even in a house this large the reports were too loud to be silenced. Ed swallowed down both his hope and his worry. The shots were a good sign, meaning that Hughes and company were getting closer. But it also meant that they were fighting something, and if it was the Nosferatu... 

"Edward," Mustang said. Ed realized he'd stopped in the doorway.

Sheepishly, he hurried inside. The glare of the electric lights stung his eyes, which had grown used to the dim, flickering torch. Ed made a beeline to the nearest note-covered worktable, rifling through the papers. He curled his lip in disgust. Sir obviously was not a very experienced alchemist. He hadn't put his notes in any kind of code at all. Ah, well, at least it made Ed's task easier.

"What are you looking for?" Mustang asked. He'd put the torch in one of the sconces and joined Ed at the table.

"I'm trying to figure out what that freak did to you, and if there's a way to cure it," Ed explained, flipping through a notebook only to toss it aside a moment later.

"We know what will cure it," Mustang said flatly.

"We know what he _told_ us will cure it," Ed snapped back, grabbing another sheaf of papers. "He could be lying. And anyway, I don't think these are typical Nosferatu."

"What? You know something?"

"Yeah, I, uh, borrowed one of those texts you were talking about," Ed admitted distractedly. "These things are the result of some pretty gruesome human transmutations, a lot like the Homunculi."

They'd gotten mildly lost on their way back, and the extra time it'd taken had proven to Ed that Mustang was faking. More than once Ed had caught Mustang weaving and stumbling as he walked, and every time Ed got too close, Mustang would tense up. Sure signs that he didn't want Ed to realize how weak the poison in his system had left him.

If there really wasn't a cure here – and there hadn't been much hope of one to start with – he was just wasting time they didn't have. Worse, there might not be any time left to wait for Hughes. In the bright lighting, Ed could see that Mustang was paler than ever. His breath came in soft panting huffs, which their brisk pace had excused before, but not now. Ed watched the darkening mark of Thoth on Mustang's chest rise and fall rapidly.

Then he looked away quickly. Now was not the time to be staring at the man's chest. His toned, hairless, sweat-sheened chest. Goddamn hormones. They were trapped between a pissed off master vampire and his underlings and zombies, while other people risked their lives to save them, and here he was getting distracted.

Another burst of gunfire sounded. It went on for longer this time.

"Fullmetal, we _need_ to get moving," Mustang reminded him unnecessarily.

"Dammit," Ed said, tossing the notes down.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure this is nothing a transfusion at the hospital won't fix," the colonel said. But his eyes were redder than ever as he looked at Ed and quickly away, and his words were strained.

"I'm not so sure about that."

After all, if it was the soul energy from the victim that fed a Nosferatu, would a bag of blood from an anonymous donor pack the same punch? Would it still be connected to the donor's soul? He thought not, or Sir would have started raiding blood banks instead of kidnapping people.

He resisted a frustrated growl. He was running out of options. If he had more time... If he knew that Mustang would survive with a simple transfusion...

_If the sacrifice is willing..._

Ed swallowed. Well, it wasn't as if he had never sacrificed part of himself before. He hadn't _felt_ like he'd had less of a soul since he'd been bitten by the girl vampire. And it was _his_ fault Mustang was in such bad shape to begin with. Hell, it was his fault these things had even done this to the man. In this case, with would only be equivalent.

"Hey, Mustang," Ed began slowly. He turned to catch Mustang's eyes with an intense stare. "Bite me."

Mustang's eyes widened, and the flimsy mask slipped. But he recovered quickly.

"More insubordination, Fullmetal?"

"Dammit, I'm serious and you know it," Ed said urgently. "I'm not stupid. The shit Sir put into you, it's killing you right in front of me. And I didn't come all this way to carry your corpse to Hughes."

"You might not have to. Around here, I'd probably keep walking on my own."

"Okay, gross. Don't get all morbid on me."

"_I'm_ not the one asking me to _drink_ your _blood_." There was a note of panic in Mustang's tone, though he tried to keep it level.

"And _I'm_ not the one being devoured from the inside out!" Ed snarled. He understood Mustang's hesitance, but they couldn't afford it. "We don't have time for this. You keep this up, and you'll pass the fuck out. You'll slow us down, and we might not get out."

"If that happens, just leave me behind and get to Hughes."

"Fuck _that_! I'm not leaving this place without you, bastard!"

His vehemence startled him as much as it did Mustang. In the brief pause that followed, Ed felt his cheeks warm, and he fought the urge to look away. Mustang turned his gaze away, and the mask dropped completely. Ed could see how strained and weary and ill Mustang really looked.

"E-Edward, I can't –"

"The hell you can't. You were going to before."

"That was different!"

"That's true. You weren't this bad off at the time," Ed said. He took a calculated step closer to the man, who tensed immediately. "Don't make this difficult. It's not that big a deal. People donate blood every day."

"This isn't just donating blood," Mustang insisted. His voice had dropped to a low growl, and Ed fought not to shiver. "I – I could really hurt you."

"You won't."

"You can't know that for certain."

"Mustang, look at me," Edward commanded.

With palpable reluctance, Mustang met his stare. Ed could sense the battle being fought inside him, could make out the fear and the hunger lurking in the depths of his eyes. The strength of the emotions startled him, but he refused to back down now. The guns were still too far away, and for all they knew Sir was up and kicking and coming to kill them. It was now or never.

"You _won't_ hurt me, Mustang," Ed said. As soon as he did, he knew it was true. "I know you won't. You're not like that smarmy creep."

Mustang's expression was wholly uninterpretable for a long moment, and then he bowed his head. In a voice that was mostly breath, he said, "Promise me you'll stop me. I – I don't know if I'll be able to once I –"

Ed didn't know what the man expected him to do with only one arm, but he nodded anyway. Mustang took a shaking breath and closed the distance between them. One hand rested on Ed's left shoulder, and the other pushed his braid off the right. Ed felt his breath hitch when feverish fingers brushed the skin of his neck, pushing the collar away.

Mustang's body was barely an inch away. Heat radiated off him, and Ed had to swallow hard. It hadn't felt like this the first time he'd been bitten. Then there had only been fear and pain. This time, there was a little fear, but his body was confusing him with this other reaction. This slow burning that rose from his navel. Ed did his best to ignore it, but he knew he was blushing like an idiot. He repeated to himself that this was only necessary, that it was practically clinical, even when his hormones were mixing this up this with something else entirely.

"Edward... are you sure?"

Angry at himself and scared Mustang had picked up on his discomfort, Ed tilted his face away to bare the right side of his neck. "_Yes_. Just get it over with."

Mustang watched him with eyes darkened and intense. Then he lowered his head, bending to bring his lips down to Ed's neck. He hesitated again. Ed almost gasped when he felt the man's breath against his skin. "I'm so sorry."

And then Mustang bit him.

It hurt, but Ed was prepared for that. In any case, Mustang's fangs weren't as large as the true Nosferatu's, and he only had the top set. It wasn't that bad by comparison. Ed held very still, and Mustang's hot mouth formed a neat seal against the wound. Ed felt his blood flow, but not a drop spilled down his throat.

The colonel growled, the sound resonating through Ed and sending an incomprehensible tingles across his skin. His mind buzzed with blurred thoughts, but his body fairly thrummed as Mustang's hand moved from his shoulder and caught the back of his head to hold him still. The hand that had moved his braid suddenly clutched his hip, pulling him closer until they were flush against each other. Ed bit his lips and tried to remember to breath, but something was kindling within him, and it felt like...

Like... _alchemy_.

It was hard to describe. It felt something like when he clapped – energy circulating through him and building. But different. There was more, there was something else, something not dangerous but _foreign_. Something not him. It was like how you hum and a tuning fork hums back. And it was getting stronger, resonating, filling him until he felt like he would burst –

Suddenly Mustang tore his mouth away. Ed's neck tingled strangely as he turned to meet the man's shocked expression. Ed didn't even have to ask – he knew Mustang must feel it too. The energy hadn't dissipated in the least, it sparked between them like a livewire. And it _hurt_, holding onto this much power all at once. It had to go somewhere.

Desperately, Ed slammed his hand down onto the table.

The surge of energy nearly flattened him. It was enormous, endless. It was all he could do to keep it from slipping out of his control and activating every single array in the lab. Instead, he directed it into the stonework beneath. As if in slow motion, the rock flowed in transmutation, spiking outward from where he and Mustang stood. It grew as it sped from him, rising like a wave with a bass rumbling that shook Ed to the core. It crashed up against the ceiling – _and kept going._.

The lights went out in a shower of sparks. Now the only light came from the snaking, crawling tendrils of alchemical energy. The wave became more wedge-shaped, forcing its way up and up and out and the ceiling started to cave in around it - Ed stood transfixed by the alchemy that poured out of him, unable to release his hold on it for fear it would rebound – and there was so much of it, too much, and he felt something slipping away...

* * *

The last sparks of alchemy died out a moment after Edward went limp. Roy blinked, noting dimly he could still see as well in the dark. He gaped first at the wreckage of the lab, then at the boy in his arms. He gave voice to the only semi-coherent thought in his head. 

"What the _fuck_?"

His next thought was that he'd killed Edward, but he could feel the boy's heart beating against his chest frantically. He quelled the panic and guilt as best he could, but his self-control had long ago been stretched to the limit and beyond.

The ceiling gave an uncertain groan, and Roy looked up at it. Cracks in the stone leaked dust and crumbled rock. It could give way at any moment. But the huge mound of transmuted rock had sealed the only entrance.

Almost relieved there was something immediate and pressing enough to distract him from the insanity of the situation, Roy cast about for any means of escape. His eyes followed the curve of the mound. It wasn't too steep to climb, and a fresh, cold scent cut through the reek of spilled chemicals and dust. It must have gone all the way to the outside. And there looked like there would be room to

Right.

Hefting Ed, he started climbing. He barely noticed Ed's weight and took long strides with ease. There was nothing left of his unsteadiness from earlier. Everything felt vivid and dreamlike, a deep satiation purring within his bones. He'd feel better about it if Ed was conscious.

The incline had punctured through various rooms as it rose, and it'd done so with enough force that the walls had been blown out as if from an explosion. Roy was just glad that there was enough room to stand upright. He focused all his energy on moving forward. Finally he saw the end of the man-made hill. It went through an outer wall and continued into space, cresting like a wave. Roy ran along it and halted at the edge.

He was in a courtyard, and it was freezing and dark. Five troop transports fanned out below him. He was high enough to be on the second or third story of the mansion, and almost directly above two transports, one of which had a bizarre dish-like object spinning on top of it. As he hesitated, he made out a buzz of activity below.

He could see as if it was daylight, despite the fact that thick clouds obscured the night sky. He could see Fuery and Havoc, pointing at him and yelling something that Roy didn't have time to listen to. He firmed his grip on Edward, and jumped.

His landing was surprisingly light. The thick drift of snow nearly froze him solid, though. He remembered vaguely that he had lost his shirt at some point. He'd curled himself protectively around Ed, and as he straightened he saw Havoc, Breda, and Fuery approach.

"Holy shit, it's the colonel!"

"And the boss!"

"What?!"

Roy looked up as the familiar faces of his unit gathered around him. He heard them all gasp, and a humorless smile tugged at his lips. Ed's reaction to him hadn't been forgotten. He wasn't surprised, but he did wonder what caused his people to gape. He knew he was nearing hysteria when the idea of having a blood-mustache nearly set him off into a fit of giggles.

Hughes pushed his way to the front - and stopped dead when his gaze landed on Roy.

"You look like shit, Maes," Roy said, because it was the truth.

"You're one to talk," Hughes snapped. He wasn't doing an impression of a goldfish, as the rest of the men were, but his eyes burned with shock. "What the hell happened in there?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, we need to get out of here and to a hospital," Roy said, standing. He cradled Ed in both arms, and the boy's bangs tickled his neck.

Hawkeye stepped forward, bearing blankets. Roy avoided Hawkeye's glance, not wanting to see her recoil as well. She wrapped a blanket around his shoulders in an almost mother gesture, tucking it carefully around Ed as well. Roy felt awful for making her worry.

"Get them in the van, Havoc," she commanded briskly when she drew away. "Fuery, get a hold of the E.R. and let them know we're coming. Archer should be notified as well."

"Actually," Hughes said, a slow, glittering smile creeping across his face, "I think I'd like to tell him myself. You know, man to man."

**TBC**

* * *

**To the Readers:**

Okay, this is where I get all cheesy. I really want to thank everyone who's read this and encouraged me. I was surprised at how many new readers found this while I was taking my sweet time updating, and if I never replied to your comment, it's because I have patchy internet access and an even patchier memory. Sorry. ;;

But anyway. I've been going through a lot of horrible RL crap, and I came really close to abandonning this fic because of it. But every time I was about to throw in the towel, I'd get a comment on LJ or a review on and it would remind me just how much I wanted to finish it. So, thanks for providing the motivation, and thanks for reading. It really means a lot to me.


	11. Chapter 11

"Every day I learn what to say

And what not to have done

And I taste of ashes

Of a fire long since gone"

–"_Blackheart Rodeo_" by Tom McRae

**Chapter Eleven**

Sir and Envy eyed the transmuted hill blocking the hallway where the laboratory used to be with well-concealed dismay.

"Fucking Fullmetal," Envy pronounced after a moment.

Sir took a step closer and examined it with restrained awe.

"This is Fullmetal's work?" he asked in a low, avaricious tone. "Such power... A mere human can do this much?"

Envy snorted. "You really must be an amateur if this mess impresses you. Pipsqueak is really losing his touch."

Sir looked over his shoulder at him, as if he was trying very hard not to be annoyed by his rudely condescending tone. Envy smirked at him. They both knew that Sir would not dare make a comment, not with the Philosopher's Stone at stake. But Envy didn't bother to rub it in. In truth, he was a bit perplexed by this display.

It was not Elric's style in the least. Envy had been around long enough to know a natural alchemist's touch, even if he hated to give the brat that much credit. But his transmutations were... refined. Moving this volume of matter was no problem for the brat, but that wasn't the impressive part. Even in the heat of the moment, he could summon extraordinary concentration. Envy still remembered the incident with the walking statue in Liore. To perform a kinetic transmutation and still retain such control – it was something that took skill no one could deny. So the half-formed, lumpish wave of earth that tore haphazardly upward was unusual.

Something must have gone wrong. But what? Elric wasn't stupid, he wouldn't have tried some kind of alchemy in there and accidentally activated the arrays. That would just have left him and his precious Colonel splattered on the walls or inside the Gate. Envy didn't doubt the irritating little pissant was still alive – Hohenheim's whole clan laid claim to unnatural resilience. At any rate, this looked almost like a rebound, only... not.

Envy frowned. Like a rebound in reverse.

The real question was, what did it _mean_?

He narrowed his eyes to slits. This was exactly Edward was a potential danger – he was unpredictable at the most inopportune times.

"So, is there another way out?" he asked, keeping his observations to himself.

Sir stopped caressing the protrusion and turned back to face him. "No. This i_is/i _a dungeon. There is only one exit."

"Then I'll have to improvise." Envy stood back, tipping his narrow chin up as he studied the cracked stones in the ceiling. "You might want to stand back."

A heartbeat later, he leaped up, fist crashing into the ceiling's weakest point. Sir hastily dodged the chunks of falling debris. Envy resisted a derisive chuckle. Slow bastard. He bounced lightly off the floor and soared through the large hole his punch had created. When he'd landed neatly in the hallway above, he leered back down at Sir's nonplussed expression.

"We'd better move. Your hired goon is waiting for us out back," he said. He gave a slight, mocking bow. "On sir's orders, of course."

Sir's eyebrows rose before drawing down into a faintly displeased frown. "I have another servant here. It would be... wasteful to leave her behind."

"Sacrifices must be made, right?" Envy sneered callously in response. "Hurry up before I change my mind."

With a sigh, Sir clapped his hands together primly, then knelt to touch the floor. The stone fizzled away, then reassembled itself into a staircase rising up to join with the edge of the hole at Envy's feet. When the crackling red energy died away, Sir ascended the steps with a lofty gait.

"Do you know the way to the rear exit, or shall I show you the way?" he asked, coolly magnanimous, when he reached the top.

Envy didn't know whether to roll his eyes, grind his teeth, or make an obscene remark. He settled for an ironic twist of a grin and said, "After you, Your Majesty."

* * *

Roy sat at the back of the transport Hughes had ushered him into, quietly having a nervous breakdown. Things were happening too quickly, far too quickly. He almost longed for another distraction – Fuery fussing over Edward, lying in Roy's arms, Hawkeye berating him for forgetting his gloves, Hughes interrogating him. But no one was cooperating. A thick, uneasy silence filled the vehicle as they bounced and grated their way over drifted backroads on their way to the Central hospital.

There was next to no light, save for the dim glow of the communications machinery stacked to one side. Yet Roy could see as plain as day. He could see how everyone tried not to stare at him and Edward, and failed miserably. Questions no one dared ask lurked in their eyes before they would notice him watching and they'd look away. It was just as well. Roy had no answers.

Edward probably did, but he was as yet unresponsive.

Roy looked down at him, avoiding the stares of his men. Like this, the boy seemed so... small. Frail. He hardly weighed anything, even with the automail leg. His bangs were a mess, and without even really registering what he was doing, Roy lifted a hand to brush the hair back from Edward's eyes, which flickered reassuringly behind closed lids.

No distractions, nothing standing between him and his huge and terrible guilt.

God. What was he doing? What had he done?

He could still taste Ed's blood.

Sickness churned in his belly, in his mind. His soul. Everything had happened too quickly. One moment they'd been captives, the next he'd been on fire – and God, he'd known fire was a horrible way to die, he'd killed enough people to _know_ that, but now that he'd _felt_ it and it made him realize how cruel he truly was – all those people, those children, screaming, and the stench of burning bodies –

No. No, that was then. That was years ago. Forget it for now. Now was this transport, this boy – _not that boy_ – and dammit, they were safe now. Roy breathed a long, shaky sigh.

After the fire, all he could remember of the hurried flight back to laboratory was the heady scent of Edward enveloping him like a mist. The powerful, perverse hunger, and Edward standing too close. Hadn't he realized that Roy had been balanced on a razor's edge, striving against the urge to grab him and tear into him like a dog with a juicy bone?

He could still taste Ed's_ blood_.

What had he _done_?

All his struggle against himself for nothing. Edward was so stupid, offering himself, but... Honestly, Edward was a born martyr, it was only to be expected. Predictable. Roy should have been prepared. Should have had better reasons to say no. Should have said no. But everything had happened too quickly, and Edward's vivid, determined eyes had swallowed him, and he'd thought ijust a taste./i And even before he'd sunk his teeth in, he'd known it'd be much more than that.

Fuck. _What had he done?_

He could still taste Ed's blood. More than that. He could feel it inside him, surging in his veins with every half-mad heartbeat. God, he was going insane from it. And remembering the flush of color high in Edward's cheeks as the boy bared his throat, the rush of holding Edward against him, the shameful satisfaction of sinking his teeth into that perfect neck – and he'd never dreamt that blood would taste like that, so pure, so _sweet_ –

He was a monster. A monster. Every bit as bad as Sir. Worse, because Edward had trusted him. And where did that trust leave him? Unconscious and bleeding in Roy's lap.

...Wait.

Roy looked down at his chest, at the blanket, at Edward. Bleeding. If Edward was bleeding, where was the blood? Roy had bitten him close to a vein, and they hadn't had time to patch it up before that completely bizarre transmutation had occurred. Edward's blood should be everywhere by now, not just on Roy's lips and conscience.

He glanced up to make sure no one was gawking at him before he carefully put fingers under Edward's chin and tipped his head to one side. His breath caught at the sight of unmarred skin. There were no wounds. Not even a hickey.

Impossible.

Well, maybe not relatively impossible, considering the genuine vampires. But healing with alchemy was a type of human transmutation. The only person Roy had ever heard of using alchemy directly on patients was Dr. Marco, but that was dealing with an alchemical disease. It was not healing wounds instantly, leaving no scar behind. That would only have come at a terrible price.

Was Ed paying for it?

He hated this. What the bloody blue _fuck _was going on?

"Roy."

He jerked, startled, and looked up. He realized belatedly that the vehicle had stopped moving, and Hughes had come to stand in front of him. Behind him, Hawkeye pulled open the sliding door, and the others all began to tromp out.

"Hospital?" Roy managed to ask.

"Yeah."

Roy swallowed and stood, hefting Edward. The blanket fell away as he did so, and he resisted a hiss as the cold air touched his skin. But Hughes didn't back away to let him pass.

"Wait. I'll have Fuery and Hawkeye take him in first," he said, frowning. "But we need to figure what to do about... well, you."

"Oh." He hadn't considered that. He wondered again just what he looked like. It wasn't like he'd grown a second head or anything. The only obvious change he had noticed were the fangs. "What _about_ me?"

"Didn't see your reflection, did you?" Hughes asked, and there was some dark humor in the question.

Roy was not amused, but before he could respond, Hughes stepped aside to allow Fuery and Hawkeye to come forward. They took Edward from him without speaking. Fuery kept glancing up at him nervously, looking as if he expected Roy to bite his head off. If anything, this only exacerbated Roy's uncertainty. As the two left with their charge, he sank slowly back onto the hard bench and shivered.

Hughes shut the sliding door and turned back to him. He looked grim as Roy had ever seen him as he sank into the swiveling chair that was bolted down in front of the communications equipment.

"Do I really look that bad?" Roy asked quietly. He pulled the blanket back around his shoulders, trying not to hunch up in it.

"You look like... well, I suppose you could pass for an Ishballan mix, if no one knew better. But you've just been all over the newspapers, so no one would buy that. You've got their eyes," Hughes said, matching his tone. He didn't need to clarify which 'they' he meant.

Roy stared at the textured metal floor blankly. His eyes... Well, that wasn't nearly so bad as the other things of theirs he'd gotten. "Oh."

"Not to mention that flashy new tattoo," Hughes gestured vaguely towards Roy's chest. He'd almost forgotten about the strange red ankh, to tell the truth. What had Ed called it? Mark of something. But Hughes spoke again, stalling his memory. "What happened in there?"

He closed his eyes. God. He wasn't ready to talk about this. "That's a good question. Even I'm not sure."

"Dammit, this isn't time to play games," Hughes said shortly. "You've been gone for almost twenty-four hours, and you have a helluva lot of explaining to do. What possessed you to leave Edward alone, and without your gloves?"

That accusation startled him into looking up, and he met his friend's hard glare. So much had happened since the night before, he couldn't even begin to think of a rebuttal. He opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again. "I – I was only going downstairs –"

"That's a pisspoor excuse, Roy, and you know it. You i_knew/i_ they were after you two. What made you think it would be all right to leave the room unarmed? Why did getting tanked with _a stranger in sunglasses _seem like a good idea – when you were supposed to be guarding Edward?" Hughes demanded.

Well, when he put it that way.

Even for Roy, who'd seen the man truly angry a handful of times before, the barely-restrained fury in Hughes's words was something of a shock. It was easy to forget that Hughes was made of steel, underneath all that good-natured paternal exuberance. It had been a long time since Roy had found himself pinned by a green dagger gaze. Even worse, Hughes was totally justified. He _had_ been unforgivably stupid the night before. As if he needed another reason to hate himself right now.

But now he was thinking. Obviously he couldn't tell Hughes that he'd realized he was infatuated with a subordinate fourteen years his junior and the idea had, for some strange reason, bothered him immensely. However, Fullmetal had given him ammunition to use, and Roy suddenly felt a flicker of his own anger. Glad to feel something other than self-recrimination, he latched onto the flicker and fanned it liberally.

"Oh, I don't know. About the same time you decided to cover up the truth about Lab Five," he said coldly.

Hughes's eyes widened, his rage faltering. "What?"

"Fullmetal told me everything last night. He had to, in order to explain his theory on these... things," Roy finished, albeit a little lamely. He plunged onward. "Homunculi in the military? Doesn't that sound like something I should have known about?"

"I didn't tell you because firstly, I didn't want you to charge in guns blazing, and second, the Fuhrer was involved with that mess and it was too early to tip your hand. It still is," Hughes countered. "Is that why you left Ed alone? Because you were pissed at me?"

"No! I was pissed, but I'm not fucking petty," he snapped. "Human transmutation, Hughes. Brought up some bad memories."

Hughes looked like he was going to speak, but he hesitated. That was all right. Roy knew what he wanted to say.

"I'm not saying that excuses anything. God, I was stupid. I know I was stupid. And as a result I put Fullmetal in danger, I put myself in danger. All of you, too," Roy said in a level tone. He dropped his eyes. "'Sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Well, it's a start," Hughes said. He didn't sound mollified, exactly, but the anger had subsided to a simmering note. "But if you ever do something so incredibly idiotic again, I'll kill you myself and have your goddamn gloves stuffed and mounted."

"Fair enough," he replied, even as he recognized that Hughes would likely make good on that threat before this conversation was over.

"Now. What happened after you left the bar?" Hughes asked, getting back down to business.

Time to bite the bullet. Roy swallowed, tongue thick in his mouth as he began to talk. He didn't go into too much detail. He skipped the part where he'd let himself be seduced to Sir's hotel room entirely. Some things Hughes had probably worked out for himself. But his words came more haltingly as he began to speak about the mansion.

Hughes's eyes widened at the bit with the wandering corpses, but they narrowed grimly again when Roy told him how he'd been... changed.

"Sir – that man, that's what he called himself – tried to force me to bite Edward," Roy said. He looked down and heard Hughes gasp. "He said if I didn't, he would. And he was hurting Edward right in front of me. I – I couldn't just stand there and watch that happen."

Hughes said, incredulous, "You - you _bit_ him?"

Roy flinched. Slowly, he shook his head. "No. Not... not then."

The implications of that sank in and a deadly silence roared into being. Roy's heart hammered against his ribs. Vaguely he noted that he had started shaking. He only noticed because the broken chains of the manacles still around his wrists rattled. He clasped his hands together to try to hide the tremors. Still the silence dragged on, and he couldn't take it.

"_Say_ something."

"...I... really don't know what to say."

"Please, Maes," Roy begged.

"Er... You're not, uh, still thirsty, are you?"

Roy jerked as if struck and looked up. "No! God –"

"Then why don't you just keep talking?" Hughes interrupted, face and tone unreadable. "I need the full story, Roy, not bits and pieces. Why didn't you bite Ed then?"

Roy drew a deep breath. Dredging up the last of his willpower, he mastered himself enough to continue. "You and the others arrived. One of Sir's underlings came to tell him. He was in the process of moving us to a dungeon cell when Fullmetal used the glove he'd brought for me. We managed to get away from Sir, back to the lab. Fullmetal was looking for a way to... fix me.

"And that's when I bit him," he finished. By now the shaking had gotten so pronounced there was no hiding it. "I – I _drank_ his _blood_, Maes. God, I'm not even human."

"Shut up. Don't start talking like that. It gets us nowhere," Hughes snapped. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and then ran them through his hair. "Okay. Okay, so what was Ed doing? Did he fight back?"

Roy shook his head. "He... he just. Stood there and. Let me."

"Why?"

"He thought he was helping me. He thought it was the way to fix me." Bile stung the back of his throat as he swallowed again.

"And I'm guessing Ed didn't tell you anything about what he's discovered," Hughes said slowly, heavily. "About the Nosferatu."

Roy shrugged. "Only that he had found out something. There was hardly time for a lecture."

Hughes looked through him for a long, ominous moment. Roy could almost hear the gears turning. Then he shook his head. "Nope. I'll let Ed tell you himself."

"Hiding things from me again?" Roy asked without heat.

"Bet your ass I am," Hughes said. "I'm out of my depth when it comes to alchemy, so I'll leave that to the experts. I'm probably just jumping to conclusions."

And with that fresh lump of unease sinking in Roy's stomach, Hughes proceeded to finish grilling him about the escape from Sir's mansion. Now that the truth was out, Roy felt drained, exhausted. He answered questions on autopilot, thankful that there wasn't much left to tell, less to actually _explain_. He'd just finished talking, watching the questions start to form on Hughes's face, when a knock sounded from the sliding door of the van. Hughes gave an abortive shake of his head and shot Roy a glance that told him they weren't finished talking.

"Come in," he said loudly. The door clunked open and drew aside, revealing Hawkeye's stoic form. "Report, Lieutenant."

"Fullmetal's stable, but still unconscious," she said without preamble. She frowned slightly. "They say his only new wounds are bruises and minor scrapes, but he's suffering from anemia."

"Probably not getting enough iron in his diet," Hughes said dryly.

"What about the Colonel, sir?" Hawkeye asked briskly, but her eyes softened minutely.

Roy opened his mouth to object automatically, but in light of his recent... changes, he held his tongue. If he was in their place, he'd want to ascertain his competency, too. He looked to Hughes with a wary furrow between his brows.

"Well, for the Flame Alchemist, he's not so hot," the Lieutenant Colonel said, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly with one hand. "But he's alive. We should get him inside. It's getting cold in here."

"I took the liberty of preparing a secured hall to minimize awkward questions," Hawkeye said, barely batting an eye at the reasons for _needing_ a secured hall. This is why Roy had to love the woman. Even in the face of tense situations – such as her boss becoming possibly undead and definitely an alchemical freak of nature – she kept her head and her impeccable efficiency.

And with that efficiency, Roy found himself whisked into the hospital via a service entrance, up three flights of stairs, and down to the end of an empty hall. The room was a double, Edward ensconced on the bed nearest the window.

The white covers were pulled up to his chest, showing that they'd put him in a thin hospital-issue gown. His hair was unbound and freshly washed – he'd been mildly scorched and filthy with rock dust, as Roy himself still was – and was almost the only spot of color on the bed. White bandages stuck here and there to his arm and face, a livid collar of black bruises in the shape of fingers circled his throat.

Roy froze in the doorway, aghast, feeling his stomach give a sudden roll. He'd done this. Oh, God, he'd done this. He'd put Edward here. His mind balked, and he couldn't look away, and dear God – They hadn't even reattached his arm yet, and Roy couldn't help the thought of the first time he'd laid eyes on Ed, a scrawny eleven-year-old – No. No. He couldn't. If he thought of Ed as that child – or _that_ _child_ – and all he could smell is the ash on him, the choking stink of burned-flesh –

Roy felt something in his head begin to unravel dangerously.

With his sanity at stake, he forced the memories away, dissociating the first violently from the young man laying so still on the bed. Reality seemed to slip sideways before falling abruptly into place with an almost audible click.

Roy swayed on his feet, fighting a sense of dizziness. Hughes and Hawkeye, for their part, were speaking quietly beside Ed's bed, appearing oblivious to his distress. And when he looked hesitantly at Edward, there was a harsh stab of guilt, of course. This time it did not threaten his sanity. He gave a soft, shaky sigh.

His nineteenth nervous breakdown of the night thus avoided, he forced his leaden legs to step farther into the room. He closed the door behind him slowly, taking deep breaths while he tried to school his expression blank. He doubted it worked very well, but he turned back towards the others.

"Fuery and Breda have gone to get Alphonse from your office," Hawkeye was saying to Hughes.

"I'll stay here in case he wakes up," Hughes replied before giving a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Sir, I really think that's unnecessary," she said, her tone and expression thawing. "You have a family to get back to. I know you haven't slept since Edward called you."

"Because you've been there the whole time, too," he countered. "Don't think I don't know you're just as exhausted as I am. Don't you have to walk Black Hayate or something? Wouldn't want to come home to puddles."

"He knows better," Hawkeye said with a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Go home, Hughes."

"I'll stay," Roy volunteered quietly. Both of them turned to stare at him bemusedly.

"Well, yeah," Hughes said after a beat. He pointed helpfully. "That other bed isn't mine, and it's not just for show either. Why do you think they got us a double?"

"No," Roy frowned and shook his head. "I'll stay awake until Alphonse gets here. Have someone else stand guard – Havoc or Falman. You two have done enough. Go home and rest."

They seemed a little dubious and exchanged glances, silently communicating. Hughes sighed and turned his attention back to Roy.

"Fair enough. I think we all need to rest," he intoned tiredly. "Hawkeye, get out of here. I'll see to the arrangements with the hospital staff before I leave."

"Yes, sir. I'll send Havoc up," she replied, saluting smoothly before looking at Roy with a warmth that might have surprised most who knew her. "Good to have you back, Colonel Mustang."

"Good to be back, Riza," Roy replied sincerely, dredging up a thin smirk. "Sorry for the trouble."

"Then don't make a habit of it," she said. "Good night."

Once she'd gone, Hughes turned to Roy, producing a thin lockpick seemingly from thin air. "Let's get those manacles off, hmm? Unless you like to make that kind of fashion statement."

Roy sat on his bed, holding his arm out for Hughes, kneeling on the floor beside him out of some innate fatherly instinct. They were silent while the intelligence officer worked. The first cuff snapped open and Roy caught a glimpse of raw abrasions on his wrist. In the next heartbeat, they healed over with a shimmer of alchemy, a bit more slowly than when he'd been burned. Hughes stilled, not raising his gaze as he stared openly at Roy's arm. After a moment, he gave a soft cough, then started working on the second manacle. Roy squeezed his eyes shut grimly, refusing to acknowledge the tremors that had started up again.

Hughes finished the second one silently. Roy heard him stand, followed the sound of his footsteps towards the door.

"Ed knew what he was doing," Hughes said suddenly, causing Roy to open his eyes. His friend stood in the doorway, looking at him with an uninterpretable expression. "Remember that, Roy. Ed knew what he was doing."

Before Roy could ask what he meant by that, Hughes was gone.

* * *

Archer glared at the abrupt dead end in the dungeon passage as if the rough edges of transmuted stone blocking his path had insulted him personally. He and his men had been coming around the corner when the minor earthquake stalled them. A minor skirmish with the last of the... gruesome corpse-like creatures further delayed them – though not for long, the things they encountered this time were much ravaged with decay and much easier to handle. The rumbling aftershocks had faded before they were able to press on, only to find this latest impediment.

It was anticlimactic, to say the least. Archer had to swallow a frustrated growl.

"Sir," Second Lieutenant Reeve, the communications officer of his squad, spoke up. He cupped an ear-piece of his headset with one hand. "Charlie squad reports the mission objectives are outside and leaving with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes."

Archer spun on his heels, lips curled into a snarl. "What? How?"

"Some kind of alchemy, sir," Reeve said, opening his mouth to add more, but just then Major Baker shouted a warning, "Behind us!"

Instantly the squad fell into firing position, aiming into the darkened hall they'd navigated previously. Searching beams of flashlights illuminated no impending threat. Baker clenched his square jaw, hands tightening on his rifle.

"Saw its eyes. Like a damn cat's," he said.

Possibly a chimera, then. Archer scanned the hall, his heart thudding in his chest. Where could it be hiding?

A light scrabbling sound above them and to the left drew Archer's eyes up. He gasped. A woman clung to the ceiling by her fingertips, back pressed flat to the wall. Her eyes flashed reddish-orange, and her lips parted in a dangerously pointed grin.

"There!" Archer shouted, but she was already moving. Moving _fast_. The rapid fire of the rifles blasted in Archer's ear drums as she fell on him, hissing. Her slim hands seized his arms, squeezing with strength that she should not have been capable of, lifting him off the ground as she snapped at his throat. He felt the burning sting of her teeth scraping his skin – he managed to lift his sidearm, finger jerking down on the trigger desperately.

The bullet tore into her side, making her screech as she dropped him. She pressed a hand to the gaping hole above her hip. As she did, Archer took aim and delivered another shot into the center of her forehead. She fell back, skidding into the wall. But to Archer's shock, she did not fall. Instead, she straightened, smiling as gore dripped down her face. She lifted her bloodied fingers to her lips and licked them lasciviously, her eyes never leaving Archer's.

"Need to do better than that, sugar," she purred.

The men stared, dumbfounded horror on their faces, and Archer lost his temper. "Fire, you idiots! Kill her!"

The woman tensed and sprang into the air, lunging for the nearest man – Reeve – only to find herself face to face with his rifle's mouth. He fired twice and missed both times, the woman twisting in the air around his shots, and she fell on him with a mad cackle. He landed a foot in her gut, though, and shoved her off him as the hit the ground. She rebounded instantly, surging through a hail of bullets to tackle Baker as well.

Archer rose to a crouch and launched himself at her legs as she passed him. She nimbly veered away, taunting with another laugh – which cut off suddenly as Baker's bullet struck her throat. As she faltered and gurgled and choked on blood gushing like a faucet from her ruined neck, the squad fired in tandem, repeatedly. Archer emptied his clip, reloaded, and emptied the next as well. The air grew thick with gunsmoke, the bright flares from barrels angrily punctuating the darkness.

Finally, the woman – what was left of her – stopped twitching, and they ceased fire.

Archer grabbed his fallen flashlight, and he shone the light on her remains, despite the squeamish groans of the men. Her legs had very nearly been sheered off at the hips, her guts strewn and splattered everywhere, the wall behind her painted nightmarishly with blackish-red blood. The corpse lay sprawled half against the wall, and Archer could clearly see into her chest cavity, her ribs splintered and jutting like the petals of some twisted flower. Her lungs were so much raw meat, and her heart an oddly-shriveled, unmoving lump.

He heard someone start retching onto the tiles behind him, so he considerately turned his flashlight back towards his men. They were all giving the Major his privacy as best they could, while Reeve fiddled with his headset again.

"Sir, your orders?" he asked.

Archer lifted a hand and brushed away the slow seep of blood from the wound on his neck. "Has there been any sign of other suspects?"

After a brief radio relay, "No, sir. Flame and Fullmetal were the only persons seen leaving the compound."

That didn't mean much, given the thick fall of snow. He clenched his reddened fingers into a fist. Damn it. The Fuhrer's information had indicated more members of this... terrorist sect. Men, and a boy according to the newspapers. And Archer would bet those things in the hallway were probably the befouled bodies of the kidnapping victims. This woman-thing, though. No one had mentioned anything like her. Regardless, the whole thing stank of a set-up. A long trail to a dead end, his objectives escaped, his quarry absent. He'd been had.

"All squads fall back. We'll search the perimeter," he bit out. "And tell the investigation team they have their work cut out of them."

"I'll tell them to bring their spatulas," Reeve said, not even half-joking.

"Move out," Archer commanded, already marching stiffly himself. An icicle of cold fury froze in his chest. He felt cheated, and it wasn't a slight he'd soon forget. That idiot Hughes would be unbearable about it, too, the cheerful cretin.

* * *

_Ed flew out of his body and up and up and through and beyond, carried by an enormous surge of alchemy clenched tightly in his control. Little else registered but utter dismay, remembering a similar sensation when he'd faced the Gate._

_But there was no Gate here._

_And it didn't feel like the Gate, that disturbing sense of an alien intelligence focusing with terrifying intensity on him. He soared in a dark void, but there was light in the form of glowing, flowing streams of alchemical formulas. They were illegible at best and constantly shifting, never quite forming a whole thought, hints of proper symbols mixed with the gibberish lines and whorls._

_Ed squinted at them as they rushed by, but sensing it was useless, he turned his gaze away – or attempted to. But the strange arrays spanned the whole of his vision wherever he looked, a vast chaotic kaleidoscope, shifting and fractal. They spun and swirled and divided and intertwined around him, rainbow panoramas of energy. They mesmerized him, their motions like perfected clockwork yet utterly unpredictable. The further, deeper he went, the more complex they became, until even the dark spaces between arrays were arrays as well. _

_And then it dawned on him, sudden realization pushing all other thought from his head. He knew what this was._

All is one and one is all.

**TBC**


End file.
